


Madrigal

by Rotisserie_Cassowary



Series: Madrigal [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 47
Words: 74,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7649284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotisserie_Cassowary/pseuds/Rotisserie_Cassowary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape knows better than anyone that he's far from being considered a good man. But now he's been tasked with destroying the only person who ever saw good in him, who ever believed he could be a better man. Faced with this insurmountable obstacle, he finds hope and healing in the arms of the last person he'd ever expect...</p><p> </p><p>Takes place during the events of HBP. Hermione is of age. Story is complete. First half of a two-part series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Damn it all to hell. How do I always get myself into this shit?_

I was sprawled in one of the flamboyant armchairs in Dumbledore’s office, recovering from nearly 6 hours of alternately nursing and fighting that bloody cursed hand of his. And he was just sitting there with this smugly benign little smile on his face. _Can’t he show just a little bit of fucking gratitude? Or empathy? Merlin’s beard, I could be mistaken for a man twenty years my elder because of him!_ Next thing I know, he’s INFORMED me that I am to take on an apprentice, due to the “potential imminence” of my demise! _MY demise?! He’s the one with the curse that’s going to inexorably devour his body and soul!_

And who else could it be but Hermione Fucking Granger? The brightest in her year, The Boy Who Lived’s best friend, and so efficient at potion-making that she’s able to simultaneously supervise three indolent boys while executing near-flawless concoctions. Yes, of course I had no arguments to save myself. The girl is ingratiating, eager to please, quick-tongued, and frightfully clever. For some reason, none of these phrases registered as insults to Dumbledore’s ear.

So next thing I knew I was in my office, asking Miss Granger if she would pretty please like to give up hours of her life every week to hang out with her greasy potions master. I couldn’t help but smirk at how nervous she seemed. The slight, pale girl sat so far on the edge of her seat that I feared she was on the verge of tumbling to the floor. Her ridiculous hair seemed to vibrate with anxiety, and I could see her pupils had dilated from all the adrenaline coursing through her system.

“You must be wondering why I’ve asked you to meet me here. I’m not one for bullshitting, so here it is: Dumbledore has reason to believe that I may cease being able to serve the Order of the Phoenix in the near future. I provide the Order with a myriad of things: powerful healing draughts, potions for subterfuge and poisons for interrogation, methods for mitigating the effects of dark magic, etcetera,” I shrugged nonchalantly while she continued to simply stare at me, uncharacteristically silent.

“The Headmaster believes the Order would be best served by my ‘training a replacement should anything untoward happen,’” I spat Dumbledore’s words with all the disdain I was able to summon. I stared at the girl, waiting for her to voice her inevitable opinions. And she continued to simply look at me solemnly and expectantly! _Did she have a personality transplant?! Is she drugged?!_

“As I'm sure you have surmised by this point, I am inquiring as to whether you would be interested in accepting a potions apprenticeship... It would be extremely difficult, exhausting, frightening, depressing, and painful…” Still the little brat stared at me!

“You will sleep a mere handful of hours every night. You’ll always smell like herbs, burned hair, and dead things. I will doubtlessly yell, berate, and intimidate you daily. You WILL cry many times. You will only address me as Sir, Professor, or Master Snape and you’ll be expected to maintain perfect decorum and respectful speech at all times. I’ve been tasked with the impossible: transferring the knowledge I’ve accrued in the last three decades of my life into the 17-year old brain of a Gryffindor know-it-all. However, as always, I will do as I have been instructed. I will attempt to provide you with all the tools you’ll need to help The Order, but most importantly, assist Potter in fulfilling his destiny. What say you, girl?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? No flurry of questions? No appalled responses?”

She took a deep breath. “Just three questions, Professor.”

“Go on then,” I sighed resignedly.

With a small quirk at the corner of her mouth, she asked, “What time? Where do I meet you? What should I wear?”

Quickly stifling my face’s sudden mutinous attempt to smile back at the cheeky girl, I replied crisply, “Tuesday evening. 8 pm. Top of the dungeon stairs. Covered legs and arms. Closed-toe shoes. Don’t be late. Not that you’re capable of such a thing.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then. Thank you, Sir.”

And she just got up, straightened her robes, and left! Just like that! No nattering. Not a single follow-up question from the Fucking Queen of the Socratic Method!

_She just cheerfully agreed to becoming a virtual slave to her surly potions professor? Maybe I didn’t terrify her properly? And that’s usually my strong suit!_

_Clearly, she’s lost her goddamn mind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little FYI: my vision of Snape is that he looks pretty much exactly like Adam Driver plus ten years of aging. I had always found the actor to be rather Snape-like in Girls, with that indefinable gawky sexiness. But when I saw him as Kylo Ren, I was like, "Holy shit! He is LITERALLY a young Severus Snape!"
> 
> And how I see Hermione is that she's essentially just Emma Watson (who is a radiant goddess), but with Hermione's actual hair texture.


	2. Chapter 2

She popped into view at 7:55, precisely five minutes early as per usual. She gave me a business-like nod, then stared resolutely at a spot three inches below my chin. Smirking at her commendable attempt at obsequiousness, I spun in a swirl of robes and abruptly set off down the dungeon hall. She had to jog to keep up with my much longer strides, which I’m ashamed to say I found quite amusing. I paused in front of a singularly gruesome painting, The Degloving by Garrote Shiv.

“What the…?? **What am I looking at?!** ” Miss Granger exclaimed in disgust. With a dark laugh that made her give me some serious side-eye, I replied, “This is a quite remarkable work by one Garrote Shiv, a favored artist of Salazar Slytherin. See how vibrant the reds are? He used his own blood, combined with certain thickening and preserving spells, to make the paint. He was inspired by the time he saw a man drop his stirring rod into a boiling potion and reflexively reached into his cauldron to retrieve it. I like to think of it as a daily reminder to not brew exhausted or drunk.” She shuddered and looked slightly ill, but made no comment.

“This is the entrance to my private laboratory and study. The knowledge of its location belongs to only four other people, and you’ve become number five. Please don’t give me a reason to regret this decision. I will key the wards to allow you entry, as long as you’re ALONE,” I said pointedly. “I expect no more Boomslang shenanigans, Miss Granger. Yes, I know about the Polyjuice. Who do you think brewed the antidote to de-cat you? Honestly, it’s the principal reason you’re standing here tonight. Any student who can teach themselves to make a passable Polyjuice at 13 is clearly an exceptional talent.”

She flushed and gave me a radiant smile. Even her neck and the tips of her ears were pink! I rolled my eyes derisively. “Take it down a notch, Miss Granger. You turned yourself into a remarkable imitation of an Egyptian god, so I wouldn’t be too prideful just yet.” Her face turned an intense scarlet, and she turned away. For about the millionth time, I wondered if I enjoy humiliating students a little TOO much.

I placed my right hand against its gruesome, sickeningly meaty counterpart in the painting. The section of wall before us dissolved, allowing us to stroll down the short passageway into my laboratory. Miss Granger's breath caught in her throat as she gazed around in awe. Seeing my personal space through the eyes of another, I can admit it’s pretty impressive. Intricately carved, highly-polished mahogany lines the walls. The handsome granite floors are polished to a lustrous gleam. My workbench is a priceless antique, handed down to every potions master since the 1600’s. The surface of the table is a solid slab of wood from an immensely powerful Whomping Willow that was over 500 years old at the time it was felled.

I have dozens of cauldrons of varying shapes and sizes on display, everything from enormous black cast-iron cauldrons a grown man could curl up inside, to tiny, delicate crystal vessels no bigger than a toddler’s fist. I leave my most attractive ingredients out: from the rich wooden ceiling beams hang enormous bundles of dried flowers and herbs, the shelves are lined with colorful terrariums containing the rare insects, plants, and small animals that I need fresh at hand. Even my “lounge” in the corner, where I end up passing out from exhaustion most nights, is richly appointed. The cushy and immense dark green brocade couch contrasts nicely with the severe ebony wood and black velvet of the reading chair that I keep by the fireplace. Even the ottoman is a fucking antique from the actual Ottoman Empire.

I had been colossally relieved when Professor Slughorn had demurred from taking over the workspace. He thankfully didn’t do much brewing in his personal time, so he felt that it was more appropriate for me to keep it.

“If you’re done gawping at my lab, I’d like to get to work sometime this century. For now, you’re going to be existing in a purely observational capacity, understand? I use unspeakably dangerous and expensive ingredients, and I’m not going to waste them on the mistakes of an air-headed little girl.”

“I understand, sir. Am I allowed to ask questions?”

“You may ask a **bare minimum** of questions. If you have further inquiries, submit them in writing and I will respond when I find the time. I expect you to use some actual logical thought processes here, get it? I’m not going to spoon feed you like a flipping charms professor,” I spat, making my disdain for the softer magicks a little bit too obvious. _I usually try to maintain some sense of deference for my colleagues in front of the students. Oh well, you can’t un-toast bread, as they say._

The tips of her ears were slightly pink as she pulled out a small spiral notebook and cheap ball-point pen. “What the hell is that?” I asked with what I’m assuming was an expression of horrified disbelief on my face.

“Umm, it’s a notebook and pen,” she practically whispered.

“I bloody well know what it **is**. What’s it **doing** here?”

“Well, sir, parchment is really inconvenient if you think about it. Like, who wants to deal with a four-foot roll of paper going every which way when they’re trying to take notes? Plus, you know, it’s hard to keep from poking holes through the parchment when you’re trying to write while standing up. And having to constantly dip a quill into a stupid inkwell? It slows down my note-taking by at least 15 percent!” This rant seemed to explode out of her independent of any conscious thought. She blushed but looked at me resolutely. Clearly, she’d been annoyed by this whole parchment business for a long while.

“You posit good arguments, Miss Granger, though they could be stated rather more eloquently. You may proceed.”

The first potion she ever watched me brew is one of my favorites. It’s an invention of my own: a mild hallucinogen, a calming draught, and a powerful pain-killer. I created it quite early in my Death Eater career as a palliative to survive those wretched few hours immediately following Cruciatus torture. Your body is continually wracked by aftershocks of pain. Every nerve feels as if it’s on fire. Nothing will stay in your stomach (or your bowels for that matter). “Magic Carpet Ride”, as I embarrassingly named it in my youth, gives you five to seven hours (depending on body weight and dosage) of complete escape from your own body. Your mind floats far above everything, dispassionately observing yourself writhing in pain. Quite effective, if I do say so myself.

I was immediately impressed that Miss Granger largely managed to restrain her natural inclination towards endless inquiries. I don’t think she spoke more than two dozen times during the four hours it took to produce the potion. She strategically timed her questions, waiting until I wasn’t counting, or cutting, or handling sensitive materials.

She actually made observations that I myself had made during the initial conception of the potion. “Wouldn’t using the mortar and pestle for the Prancing Pine nuts be more effective?” Nope, they’re too lipid-rich and simply gum up in the bottom.

“Why the Flagged Toadstools instead of Wisp Shrooms? Wouldn’t they give more of a dissociative experience?” They did indeed, but it apparently resulted in the mind never quite making it all the way back into the body. I ended up with a rather absent-minded, but quite friendly, lab rat from that particular experiment.

She performed her apprentice duties efficiently and with zero complaints. She cleaned every last knife, stirring rod, cutting board, piece of glassware, and even the cauldron by hand after doubting that her cleansing charms were effective enough. I couldn’t help but admire her attention to detail. That’s a skill that’s innate- it can’t be taught. And you can’t be a truly great potions master without it. So despite my doubts about her maturity level and ability to handle the emotional aspects that come along with the job, I found myself being very nearly optimistic about the future of the endeavor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Please don't sue me!


	3. Chapter 3

September and October seemed to pass in a blur. I was obviously quite pleased to finally have my dream job, Defense Against the Dark Arts, but the fact is that teaching a class for the first time is an enormous undertaking. There hadn’t been a competent professor in the position for over a decade, so I had no usable syllabi. I contented myself with focusing on the sorts of curses and hexes that I knew my fellow Death Eaters favored, as well as the dangerous magical beings I knew the Dark Lord had access to, including inferi and werewolves. I’d have preferred to construct a more comprehensive picture of the Dark Arts, but it simply wasn’t logical. I didn’t have the luxury of breaking in the first-years with Grindylows. It was straight to “how to tell if your mommy and daddy have been Imperioused.” We’re at war here, kiddies. Time to toughen up.

To my great surprise, Miss Granger and I formed a rather efficient team. She quickly made herself nearly indispensable to me. She observed me three nights a week, studiously taking notes. She always submitted a carefully organized list of inquiries under my office door by the next afternoon. During those long, boring lulls while the potions simmered, she would help me grade papers. The girl could tear through a stack of essays even faster than I could! She seemed to have an innate understanding of my grading style. I look for an understanding of the concepts in question, rather than the ability to parrot ingredient names or numbers of stirs, and she scored accordingly. Her comments were even written in a passable imitation of my own spikey script. I eventually brought myself to ask her assistance with crafting lessons for my younger students. Since I rather lack sensitivity, she was able to adapt my more disturbing subjects into a less alarming format.

She lasted until the week of Halloween before finally breaking. “WHEN AM I GOING TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING AROUND HERE?!” she spluttered. It was around 2AM Saturday morning, and she was obviously suffering from exhaustion. We’d been working on Lupin’s monthly Wolfsbane, a notoriously obnoxious potion. It takes at least 8 hours for the initial stage of brewing, and consists of numerous intricate and seemingly arbitrary instructions. You’ll stir it counter-clockwise 30 times, then 2 times clockwise, then 200 times counter-clockwise. You have to add a rather sizable volume of human saliva, freshly “harvested”. She **DID NOT** enjoy that process. It took her nearly 15 minutes to provide me with the 20 mLs I needed. Apparently, she found the process degrading.

“What do you mean?” I replied in my typical smartassed manner. “You provide me with many valuable services. Why, just tonight, you slobbered into a cup for a quarter hour for me.”

Her face was so red that I swore I could feel the heat coming off it from three feet away.

“This is ridiculous! How have I not proven myself worthy?! I’ve done everything you’ve asked! I’ve anticipated dozens of things you needed! Remember when I could tell you weren’t going to have enough mayflies, so I sprinted down the hall to Slughorn’s classroom and came running back with the jar before you were even done stripping the wings off the ones you had? You’d have missed the time window if it weren’t for me! I’m lucky if I get five hours of sleep on the nights I’m here with you! Usually it’s more like three! I’ve earned the right, Master Snape, and you know it!”

I looked at her dispassionately, my face a cold mask. “This outburst here seems to invalidate your point, Miss Granger. You clearly lack the emotional discipline needed to handle such tasks.”

“With all due respect, Sir, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

I couldn’t help but give an amused quirk of my eyebrow at her boldness. I’d never heard the girl utter a single curse word. I didn’t know she was even capable of such a thing.

“You’re just trying to draw this out as some sort of ridiculous lesson. But there’s no need to do that; there’s no time to do that. Yeah, I know, typically potions apprentices don’t brew until they’ve had years of observation under their belts. But WE don’t have that luxury. I’m capable of more than this. I can provide so much more to you as an assistant than a servant, and YOU KNOW IT.” She finished her speech with crossed arms and a proud, rather Gryffindorish expression on her face.

“Very well, Miss Granger. Starting tomorrow you are my hands, and I am naught but the observer and the advisor. I hope you’re as confident and prepared as you claim. You may return to your dormitory. It’s rather late. I can finish this up myself.”

She stared at me for a solid fifteen seconds, her jaw slightly slack with shock. She seemed to shake herself off and gratefully responded, “Thank you, Sir. So much. You have no idea what this means to me.” She gave me a small grateful smile before gathering her things and going. For some reason, I very nearly returned her smile. I blamed it on lack of sleep and low blood sugar and returned to my stack of 3rd year exams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Please don't sue me!


	4. Chapter 4

As I had anticipated- we hit turbulence almost immediately. Quite simply, she lacked confidence. She would check, re-check, and triple-check instructions before executing them. Focusing on not making mistakes seemed to actually have the opposite effect. She would concentrate so hard on getting her lotus roots evenly diced that she’d fly right past the time window for actually adding the lotus to the cauldron. She’d waste hours of time insisting on stirring by hand, rather than simply enchanting the rod to do so by itself. I’ll admit I said some pretty abusive things during those first two weeks. The girl was literally burning hundreds of sickles. I decided something needed to be done, and quickly.

I obtained permission to take the girl off school grounds surprisingly easily. Dumbledore’s curse seemed to be starting to addle his mind. He stared right through me when I went to speak with him. It was almost as if part of his mind was lost to another world, rather reminding me of my old lab rat.

On Saturday evening, I informed the girl to dress warmly, wear sturdy shoes, obtain a bagged lunch from the kitchens, and meet me in the entrance hall at 4 AM sharp the next day. She didn’t ask where we were going or what we were doing. She just agreed to be there. _Well damn, the little chit really is learning._

We proceeded down the school grounds and out the gates in blissful silence the next morning. I was almost enjoying the novelty of walking in the crisp pre-dawn air with a companion, rather than my usual insomniac jaunts. I remember the sun beginning to peek over the Forbidden Forest was particularly spectacular that morning. When we passed the last of the wards, I finally spoke, “I trust since you are 17 and not a total imbecile that you have been practicing apparition?”

“Yes, Master Snape.”

“Very good. I shall still have to guide you, but it will save me rather a lot of effort. We’re going quite far, you see.” I offered my right arm, shaking up my sleeve so that she could grasp the bare skin of my forearm. I’d heard too many horror stories about children side-along apparating while only holding onto their parent’s clothing and disappearing into the ether, never to be seen again. Skin-to-skin contact is crucial for proper magical transference. Once we arrived at our destination and she released my arm, I found that my skin tingled where she’d been touching me. _What a remarkable phenomenon_ , I thought to myself, and promptly stuffed it into the very back corner of my mind.

I had brought Miss Granger all the way to Northern Ireland to perform a rather elaborate ruse. I told her that we were there to collect Circadian Clover flowers. They only bloom one day per year, and you must harvest before the noon sun touches them, or else they become unusable. I walked a good distance away from her and surreptitiously tipped a small amount of potion down my throat before vanishing the vial. Within 30 seconds, the shakes began.

I cried out to the girl in apparent alarm, “Granger! Here! Now!”

I was on the ground curled into the fetal position by the time she got to me. I was foaming at the mouth and convulsing as I managed to whisper one word, “snake”. Miss Granger’s eyes filled with alarm. Her hair seemed to stand on end as she quivered with anxious energy and her body flooded with cortisol.

“What do I do, Sir?! What can I get you?! Do you have any antidote?!”

I simply stared up at her blearily as I continued to thrash about in the meadow grass. After a very long couple of seconds, she finally leapt into action; her wand was impressively steady as she leveled it at me.

She didn’t know the location of the bite, so she made an educated guess and began casting the healing charms on my feet and legs first. While she was steadily cycling through charms, she was simultaneously rifling through my pockets. She didn’t show any hesitation about reaching into my trousers or roughly rolling my thrashing body around to be able to access the numerous pockets inside my overcoat.

She surveyed the contents of my pockets that she’d scattered all over the ground with one eye while keeping the other on her constant flow of healing magic. She swiftly popped open a small tin and found my bezoars. She was reaching for my mouth to shove one down my throat when a light suddenly went off behind her eyes.

She stopped casting, sat back on her heels, and stared at me with an appraising eye. She took a finger to the foam at my mouth, brought it to her nose, and gave it a delicate little sniff. “Mountain laurel… and is that lemon balm, Professor? That was quite a clever ruse. You really had me going! For a minute there, I completely forgot that Ireland doesn’t have snakes.”

I sat up, wiping the rather tasty foam from my mouth with the sleeve of my cloak. “Very nice, Miss Granger. It took you less than three minutes to ascertain the problem, leap into action, find a solution, re-evaluate, and recognize the true solution. Do you see what happens when you don’t get caught up in your own head? When you don’t waste time worrying about making mistakes? You are more than capable of the things I ask of you. You simply have to trust yourself.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, and thankfully she turned away before I had to watch them fall. “Thank you, Professor. You have no idea. This really meant a lot to me. I know I obsess too much about planning for every possible thing that could go wrong in my life. I literally make myself sick with worry sometimes. I’m going to do so much better for you, Sir. I’m going to be the best apprentice you could ever ask for. I swear it.” I rolled my eyes but gallantly refrained from making any cutting remarks. No point in undoing all that effort, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Please don't sue me!


	5. Chapter 5

When I left the castle that morning, I had intended on returning to Hogwarts immediately after my little lesson. For some reason, though, I felt compelled to remain.  _I guess I could use some clover flowers after all. Maybe I’ll need them if there’s an outbreak of influenza this winter and Madam Pomfrey runs out of decongestant potion_ , I convinced myself.

The peaceful meadow I’d brought us to was miles away from the nearest village, and the air was suffused with morning birdsong. The autumn grasses had all gone to seed and their fronds waved majestically in the healthy breeze. The wind caught Miss Granger’s voluminous hair, and in the sunshine it formed a golden halo around her delicate face. I caught myself staring at her profile more than once.

I hadn’t packed a lunch, but the ever-so-thoughtful Miss Granger had brought more than enough for both of us. We sat upon a knoll overlooking a small lake we’d found- honestly it was more of a pond- but she was so excited. “This is the perfect spot for a picnic! I can’t even remember the last time I did something like this! I think I must have been a really, really small child. My parents are dentists so they’re not exactly the outdoorsy types, if you know what I mean?” She suddenly looked embarrassed and stared down at her turkey sandwich.

“I’ve never been on a so-called ‘picnic’ at all. My parents weren’t exactly the parenting type,” I admitted before I even knew what I was doing. I’d never in my life spoken about my parents to a student! I immediately overcompensated, “So count yourself lucky, little girl. Soft children like you always refuse to see your privilege. You may get called a mudblood,” I spat venomously, “but the kids calling you that have probably never been hugged in their entire lives.”

“Wow, I never thought of it that way. I guess you would have to be pretty miserable to treat people the way Draco does. His parents are a nightmare. I’d probably be a jerk all the time too if I had a dad like that. Do you get a lot of kids in Slytherin who are victims of child abuse?”

“Yes,” I admitted, for Merlin-knows-what reason.

“Gods, that must be so hard for you,” she whispered shakily. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears of empathy. “Slytherin ends up with the outcasts and the beaten-down. The ones who don’t quite fit. I never realized that before. Harry and Ron always paint everything as so black-and-white. They’re Slytherins, so they’re evil. We’re Gryffindors, so we’re good. But it’s not that simple…” she trailed off. She spoke no more, but had a thoughtful expression for the rest of our silent meal.

We apparated back to Hogwarts after our surprisingly pleasant lunch. I found myself walking more and more slowly as we made our way up the long, incredibly steep incline to the castle. She spoke suddenly, startling me out of my reverie, “Thank you again for today, Sir. I know you did it ‘cause you’re sick of me screwing stuff up, but I don’t care about the reason. I really think today is going to be a turning point for me. I’m going to try to trust myself from now on. I’ve been told my whole life how clever and brilliant and special I am, but part of me has never believed it. It’s like I have Imposter Syndrome or something. I’m constantly terrified that everyone will suddenly realize that I’m actually a worthless idiot, and I’ve just been tricking everybody into thinking I’m this amazing talent…”

She stared straight at the ground as she delivered this monologue; I sensed she wouldn’t have had the nerve to get it out otherwise. She continued, “And I always just go along with Harry and Ron. They get these crazy schemes in their heads, and I just keep my mouth shut and try to keep them from getting killed! I don’t even know why! I don’t know… this must just be a stupid girl thing.”

She seemed surprised when I replied, “It is, at least in part, as you so eloquently put it, a ‘girl thing’. This is a phenomenon I’ve observed repeatedly over my many years of teaching dunderheads such as yourself.” She looked up long enough to give me an expression of amused annoyance. “I’d say 8 out of 10 of my best potions students have been female, but not a one of them would’ve dreamed of calling themselves such. To crudely generalize- women are more thoughtful and careful, which lends itself to better potioneering. Men tend towards the impatient, over-confident, scatter-brained side of the spectrum.”

“You know, that’s so true! I don’t know how many times I’ve been obsessing about getting back an exam score, and Harry just sat there smugly, totally unconcerned! And I **always** got a better score than him. Little bugger…” she mumbled grumpily, then caught herself. “Sorry, Professor.”

I snorted indecorously and waved off her apology, “I’ve called that boy much worse than a bugger.” Her laughter brought to mind the chiming of bells as it echoed joyfully across the sunlit grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Please don't sue me!


	6. Chapter 6

Within a week I was confident enough in Miss Granger’s abilities to stop hovering over her like a vulture. We would concurrently brew two batches of a potion, effectively doubling my output for the Order. More often that not, by the time they were flasked and sealed, I couldn’t even tell the difference between her batch and mine. For the first time since taking the damn job, I didn’t feel like I was drowning under a sea of responsibilities.

She’d occasionally even manage both batches so I could catch up on my professorial responsibilities. I had the ability to leave for an hour to patrol the castle or break up a fight in the Slytherin common room. Before I had Miss Granger, these kinds of situations could spell certain death for a brew that I’d labored over for hours and hours. Every time this happened was exquisitely heartbreaking to me, I’m not ashamed to say. I put a lot of my pride in my work, and let’s just say that I do not handle failure well.

The four nights a week that she wasn’t in my laboratory began to feel quiet and bereft. I brought in my record player from my quarters in order to fill the silence. I had suddenly found myself craving the emotional release of music, and I was relating more to certain songs and artists. There’s this simple little love song that I’d always just disregarded because it was on a truly epic album about felling tyrannical governments. But now, after hearing it for twenty years, it suddenly spoke to me. The man sings of facing battle with no fear in his heart because of the one he loves. Honor and truth were naught but useless constructs until she made him believe. And now he was armored in her love, and was more powerful for it. This quiet song had always seemed so out of place to me, and now it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I studiously avoided pondering this occurrence.

It was a Tuesday evening in early December when everything finally went to shit. Miss Granger was running seven minutes late, so I was already a bit concerned.

She was flushed and wide-eyed as she stumbled into the lab. “I think s-something is wrong,” she stuttered.

“What the hell happened?!” I demanded.

She choked back a sob, “Draco Malfoy. He saw me coming down the dungeon stairs a couple times, I guess, and got suspicious! He followed me tonight and saw me reaching for your painting. He jumped out and grabbed me and started yelling at me about why I’m meeting with you!! Gods, I didn’t know what to say, so I just told him I was getting special tutoring from you because I’m struggling in potions! But he’s never gonna believe that! I mean, it’s ME for Merlin’s sake! Oh gods…” and with that she finally broke down in tears.

I had no time for her hysterics and was rather brusque as I shook her and demanded, “What did you do then? Did he do anything to you? Where did he go?! Speak girl!” She coughed and looked up at me, red-eyed and miserable. “I got my hand on my wand and got him in the ribs with a stinging jinx. He took off upstairs- not back to the dorm. He’s probably going to the owlery! Damn it to hell! Should we go after him?!”

I shook my head, “No, no it’s far too risky. I can’t risk being seen chasing and attacking a student. You know the portraits are always watching. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! The Dark Lord is going to have my hide for this. There is no reasonable excuse for repeatedly being alone with you, the Chosen One’s best goddamn friend! There’s no way out of this. Dumbledore’s done it. He’s finally succeeded in killing me…”

I abruptly realized that my hands were still gripping Miss Granger’s upper arms from when I’d shaken her minutes before. I noticed, as if in a trance, how close we were standing. I could see every individual freckle on her delicately sloped nose. Her chestnut eyes had flecks of green and gold that glimmered in the warm firelight.

She tearfully exclaimed, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Professor Snape! I’ll tell Draco something, anything! I don’t care! You can’t be killed for just doing your JOB for Merlin’s sake! Maybe I had detention? I smarted off in class so you’ve had me disemboweling animals for a month?!”

I sighed and responded with my usual resigned air, “There’s no way out. You don’t have to cry for me. Every time I go before him, I feel in my heart that it’s my last night on earth. I had accepted my demise long before you even knew such a thing as death existed, Miss Granger.”

She fixed me with a steely gaze and placed her tiny hands on my forearms, which were still holding onto her like a lifeline. “I know what you can say. You’re not going to like it. You’d probably rather die. But I know it would work.”

“Go on, girl.”

“Tell You-Know-Who that you’re trying to, uhhhh, you know, seduce me,” she stammered out, blushing fiercely. “Say you’re trying to get close to me to lower my defenses. You think it would be a great way to gather information about Harry. What better source is there? Plus, you know, I’m a teenage girl, and you’re a…” She trailed off, leaving the uncomfortable truth of Death Eater proclivities blessedly unspoken.

I pondered her idea for what felt like an excessively long time. For some reason, I couldn’t let go of her, and she did likewise. Her slim arms felt like the wings of a bird beneath my calloused hands. She looked into my eyes silently and confidently, and her jaw was set.

“It might work at first,” I finally admitted. “But when he Legilimizes me… I’m not good enough to manufacture such complex images out of thin air. No Occlumens can do such a thing. We can only alter what we’ve already experienced,” I shook my head resignedly.

Out of nowhere, the girl flung her arms around my chest and buried her face in my waistcoat. “Oh Professor, thank you so much for talking to me about this stuff. It’s so hard being around two stupid boys all the time. They don’t understand me at all. They’re so immature!” she huffed angrily. My arms seemed to move independently of any rational thought as they encircled her shoulders and pulled her closer. She felt so minuscule and vulnerable against me that some sort of feral, ancient animal protectiveness bloomed in my chest.

She looked up at me, eyes shining, and whispered moonily, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Sir.” In some sort of trance, I reached for a curl that had fallen into her face. I carefully tucked it behind her bright pink ear. Then I traced my finger ever-so-lightly down the line of her jaw. Her breath hitched and I could see her lips were slightly open and moist and pink and so plump and... _Oh god what is happening to me??_ I screamed inside my head. I had an enormous, raging erection. She was so incredibly close as she embraced me that I was sure she could feel it. But she never broke eye contact with me for even a second.

“Professor?” she asked uncertainly. I was dimly aware that her hands had moved from the hug she’d been giving me before. She was now gripping the lapels of my waistcoat. As I watched in stunned silence, her hands flattened and then,  _oh gods please no,_ she was touching my chest. I knew she could feel my heart pounding erratically against her palm. She continued to look resolutely and bravely into my eyes. And then I couldn’t help myself. Even though it breaks about a dozen Hogwarts rules, as well as my own personal code of ethics, I looked into those rich chestnut depths and _dove_ …

> **I dove into her mind quite shallowly, not wanting to cause any more trauma than I had to. Hermione’s being unfolded around me like an elegant, boundlessly complex tapestry. Most adult wizards with decades more of experience had far simpler minds than hers. Fighting the urge to dig, I held back and simply observed the “color” of her current state of being. To my surprise, she gave an overwhelmingly scarlet impression. Black is the color of deception, and I expected her soul to be dark with regret and guilt. But she was a glorious swirl of vibrant reds, energetic yellows, and a few distinct aubergine tones. _This can’t be right_ , I thought to myself, _She’s putting on this act for the Dark Lord. She should be full of lies and disgust. But she’s feeling a great deal of excitement. Something that scares her in a good way?_**

 

I backed out of her mind, no more than 30 seconds after jumping in, but she was already fuming. “How could you do that?! What do you think I’m hiding from you that you’d just legilimize me like that?!” I stepped back from her and looked away shamefully.

“I’d have let you look if you wanted to, you know,” she told me after a while.

I looked up at her, startled out of my self-flagellation.

“I trust you, Professor.”

“No one’s ever said such a stupidly naive thing to me before,” I told her gruffly, hiding the true impact of her words.

“Well you need good stuff to show You-Know-Who, right? So here it is: You are so brave and so powerful, Master Snape. I admire you so. You have NO idea what you mean to me.”

She shook her head dreamily. “And just being with you makes me feel like I’m smarter and braver and more powerful too.” She was so close again. I could see her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath she drew.

“Every night that I’m not here feels empty and lonely.” A feeling somewhere between nausea and joy leapt to life in my gut.

She finally seemed to come to her senses and noticed that she was a hair’s breadth away from pressing bodily against me. I was transfixed by the way the front of her school robe brushed gently against my own clothing. After too many seconds of tense silence, I snapped at her, “That’s enough for tonight, Miss Granger. You are dismissed.” She somehow blushed even brighter and left the laboratory in a fretful flurry of robes. I glanced at the clock and was stunned to see that somehow an entire hour had passed.

_How long did I just fucking STARE at that poor girl?? She must be so terrified of me!! What the hell is wrong with me?! What is it about this brat that inspired such a strong reaction? Why am I more concerned about her being repulsed by me than I am scared of the Dark Lord? She was just trying to give me good material for Him to find in my mind. She was playing her role perfectly, and I screwed it up by getting all confused!_

_She’s a fucking child, Severus. This is just the normal protectiveness you feel for all of your students. It’s just stronger because she’s your apprentice and you’ve come to depend on her so much. You just don’t want this good thing you’ve got going to be ruined. Perfectly reasonable. Nothing untoward at all. Just get through your meeting with the Dark Lord. You have more than enough to convince him and save your ass. For now at least..._

And I’m ashamed to say that a none-too-quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered, _He’ll probably need more eventually. Progress reports, if you will. Prove you’re getting somewhere with her_. Some dark, demonic presence in my chest roared its wholehearted approval.


	7. Chapter 7

My left arm seared with ice-cold fire at precisely midnight the following evening, as I’d known it would. I changed into my heavy, intricately brocaded Death Eater robes and tucked my masque into an interior pocket. I proceeded out the gates as if I were headed to my own funeral. A string of recriminations circled through my head, distracting me from the meditative breathing I usually did before presenting myself to the Dark Lord. I nodded formally to Lucius and Narcissa as I passed their opulent drawing room. Lucius smirked and winked at me with cheeky sarcasm.

I dropped to my knees before Him, kissing the hem of his robe. “My lord, I hope this evening finds you well,” I pronounced smoothly.

“Quite well, Severus, quite well indeed,” he hissed. “I hear that you’ve found a little… companion.” His nonchalant tone belied the vehement rage I knew simmered below the surface.

“Yes, sir. I’ve been waiting until I had made some actual progress in my task before reporting to you. I needed to be sure such a thing was even within my grasp. But now I’m quite confident that it can be done.”

“And what is that, my boy?”

“I am going to seduce Harry Potter’s best friend,” I stated confidently and without equivocation. “I wasn’t sure at first that she’d be receptive. But she is quite… eager to please.” I grinned lasciviously. “She thrives on praise and positive attention. A couple compliments and she was putty in my hands.” I chuckled, projecting as much bravado and masculine sexual energy into the sound as I possibly could.

The Dark Lord placed his index finger under my chin and lifted my gaze to his own. “Legilimens.” I carefully and strategically fed him flashes of the previous evening. Her mouth, open and lusciously pink. Her chest, rising and falling with panting breaths as she stared into my eyes. The way she gasped when my finger brushed against her cheek. Her tearful exclamations of trust and affection. I had to admit while reviewing these images that even I was nearly convinced of her sincerity.

“Very good, Severus. I see you’ve made some admirable steps. However… **CRUCIO!!!** ”

Immediately, the world was naught but fire...

Every nerve fiber in my body shrieked with agony, and my gut felt like something evil was trying to claw its way out...

My vision went totally black, though I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head...

I had skipped dinner in anticipation of this. Nevertheless, spit and bile welled out of my choking, seizing throat. With every ounce of strength left in my body, I rolled onto my side so I wouldn’t asphyxiate on my vomit.

My legs thrashed and kicked, and I felt one of the muscles in my calf overextend and rip like wet newspaper.

Blood flowed freely from my nose, mingling with the viscous vomit dripping from my slackened jaw...

Centuries later, the fire was finally extinguished. I struggled back into a kneeling position as quickly as humanly possible.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Severus. Death Eaters don’t make up their own little schemes. You are MY tool to be used AS I SEE FIT. It’s unseemly for my followers to be traipsing about, doing whatsoever they please without so much as my approval. Sets a bad precedent, you see. You wouldn’t want your brothers and sisters becoming **jealous** because I provide you with too much leeway, yes?”

“No, my lord. That would indeed be unseemly.”

“Quite.” He stared at me thoughtfully for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, “You may continue this project of yours for now, Severus. But if you don’t eventually bring me valuable intel, and I am forced to become impatient… well, let’s just say things won’t end well for you **or** Potter’s little friend.”

“Thank you, my lord. It is a joyful privilege to serve at your pleasure.”

“You are dismissed.”

I kissed the hem of his robe dozens of times to drive home my gratitude, then backed far away before rising. I gave a very formal bow, then proceeded unsteadily down the hall to the entryway. Lucius and Bellatrix were waiting by the massive double doors to mock my pitiful state as I exited the manor. I sneered at them haughtily and stood much taller and strode far more confidently than I felt.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive, Snape!” Bella cackled cruelly. “His Lordship was SO MAD when Lucius showed him Draco’s letter! Imagine, Severus Fucking Snape sneaking a little Gryffindor into his quarters?! It was like Christmas had come early for the Death Eaters!” Her eyes were mad with fierce, demented joy.

“Well, I am ever so sorry to disappoint you, Bella. The Dark Lord was actually rather pleased with the progress I’ve made. Soon I’ll have more information on Potter’s activities and plans than our Glorious Leader could ever use. I’M cultivating an informant as close to our enemy as humanly possible. What are YOU doing for him lately? Rubbing his feet? Sucking his cock? Truly **VALUABLE** input there, Bellatrix. Have an excellent evening.” I wrenched open the door and had already disapparated by the time my hind foot cleared the door frame, leaving a speechless hag in my wake.


	8. Chapter 8

I popped back into existence and immediately felt that I was not alone. I whipped out my wand and grunted, “Hominem Revelio.” A bright radiance illuminated the figure of a small girl, sitting wrapped up in her cloak and shivering, waiting just inside the gate. She looked up abruptly, eyes wide, apparently startled out of a doze. “Master Snape!” She smiled, and her white teeth seemed to glow in the moonlight. “Are you ok? You’re still standing, so that’s good right?”

I grunted at her noncommittally, and proceeded to limp up the enormous hill to the castle. “Your leg is hurt, isn’t it? Here, let me help you!” She boldly grabbed my right arm and threw it over her shoulder. Against all reason, I allowed her to do so. I was surprised that she could take all of the weight my body was gratefully exerting.

“Was it the cruciatus?” she inquired, compassion filling her large doe eyes.

“Yes. And I managed to tear my calf muscle. Tonight was actually quite manageable by His usual standards. The convulsions are coming soon though,” I remarked dully.

She picked up her pace, and before I knew it we were wrenching open the enormous castle doors. We crossed the threshold into the Entry Hall and I slumped against the doorjamb and grunted, “You may go now.”

A crease appeared between her brows, and she crossed her arms. “I’m not going to do that, Sir.”

“Don’t be daft, girl. You’re out after curfew in the company of a grown man wearing Death Eater robes. You’re in over your head. Go. To. Bed,” I growled.

“I need to help you! This happened to you because of ME,” she choked out passionately. Tears welled in her eyes. “I was so STUPID to let Malfoy see me. You’re in pain and it’s all my fault!!” She stomped her foot petulantly. “I’m not letting you stumble down those dungeon stairs by yourself and that’s just all there is to it!”

Telling myself that I simply lacked the energy to argue, I shrugged and nodded once. She confidently wrapped my arm back around her narrow shoulders and set off for the dungeons. Navigating those steep flagstone stairs wasn’t nearly the ordeal that it usually was. I had tumbled down those cursed steps more than once when I’d been unable to make it to my quarters before the convulsions began.

A dozen meters down the hallway she suddenly paused. “I just realized I don’t know where your quarters are,” she whispered, a blush beginning to spread across her cheeks. I rolled my eyes and proceeded into my lab. I stumbled to the bookshelves lining the back wall, my leg muscles beginning to quake. I sequentially stroked the spines of five books, and the shelf swung smoothly and silently inward. I suddenly pitched forward and Hermione leapt to my side, steadying me. “Come on, Professor. You’re almost there,” she encouraged. I glared at her but said nothing.

I found myself experiencing a strange trepidation about her being in my quarters. I had a lump of anxiety in my throat as she helped me lower myself onto the finely-wrought antique chaise by the fireplace. As soon as the weight left my legs, they flew into spasms. My torn muscle screamed in protest. My hands palsied as I struggled with the intricate frog closures on my robes. I let out a small growl of annoyance.

“Here, Sir, let me help you.” Her small fingers deftly opened the half-dozen closures, and she gently pushed the robe from my shoulders. As it pooled on the chaise behind me, I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. I snarled, “That’s quite enough. Go now.” And the little twit just completely ignored me! I tried desperately to keep my thoughts pure as she knelt before me and pulled off my scuffed black dragonskin boots.

“Should I go get a dose of the Magic Carpet Ride for you, sir?” She inquired.

“No. I have a class to teach in five hours. I kind of need to be in my own body for that,” I muttered gruffly.

“Well, how about a painkiller potion? Or one to relax your muscles?”

“No, Miss Granger. The Cruciatus Curse resists virtually every type of magical pain management. Surely you’ve gathered as much from the dozens of times I’ve said so in class,” I spat.

She stared at me a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “I’m going to try something here. I have no idea if it’ll work. But hey, think of it as an experiment. You love experiments, after all,” she cheekily remarked. She pointed her wand into the air and cried, “Accio Pill Box!” A few silent minutes passed and then we heard it, an insistent tapping sound on the bookcase door. She wrenched open the door, and the small clear plastic box alighted in her hand like a rather ungainly bird. She rifled through for it for a second before pulling out two bright orange bottles of muggle plastic. Their contents rattled merrily.

“Here, take two of these now. They’re Percocet left over from when I had my wisdom teeth out this summer. They made me all woozy so I only took like four from the whole prescription.”

I stared at her outstretched hand suspiciously. “You expect me to take muggle medicine?!” I asked, more than slightly scandalized.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Honestly, Professor. It works just as well as potions. And it might be able to actually help the Cruciatus pain because it works by physical means, as opposed to magical means.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. _Could it be true? Would it really be that simple?_ “And this stuff is safe? I’m not going to get poisoned because some hapless muggle didn’t know what they were doing?”

She laughed far longer than I was comfortable with. I was rather embarrassed by the time she pulled herself together long enough to say, “Muggle pills are made in factories, Master Snape! They’re stringently quality-controlled at every level of production. I daresay any muggle medicine is many times safer than a potion made by the average wizard!”

“Now where can I get you a glass of water?” I pointed her towards the door on the west wall of my bedroom. She proceeded into my little kitchenette and returned bearing a small tumbler. “I didn’t know professors had kitchens. I assumed you just ate all your meals in the Great Hall like the students,” she remarked conversationally.

“The other professors don’t have kitchens,” I replied. “I submitted a special request to have one installed. I rather enjoy cooking. When I can find the time.” I shrugged with an affected air of nonchalance.

She held out the two tiny pills and the glass of water. “I have no way out of this, do I?” I asked crossly.

“Nope,” she grinned at me mischievously.

My legs and armed shuddered every few seconds with aftershocks of agony. “Fine then. Hand it over.” I grimaced and choked slightly as I swallowed the little white discs. “Merlin! That was harder than I’d thought!” I gagged, feeling more than a little nauseated.

“Yeah, swallowing pills takes some getting used to. Children’s medicine usually comes in chewable form for that reason. Now these four here are hospital-strength acetaminophen. You’ll take two in the morning when you wake up, and two more with lunch, ok? They won’t make you as loopy as the Percoset, so they’re better for daytime. Now come along, let’s get you into bed.”

I complied, allowing her to help me to my feet. _What the hell is wrong with you, Severus? You’re just letting your student boss you around like she’s your fucking mother? You’re letting her tend to you like a helpless baby bird?! Where’s your goddamn pride, man?!_ a voice in the back of my mind shouted, but I resolutely ignored it. There was just something about Hermione. For once I didn’t feel like I needed to project this impenetrable façade. It was almost a relief for someone to finally know what I went through. For someone to even care that I was in pain. Even though I knew it was simple guilt motivating her actions, I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just felt SO DAMNED GOOD to have someone fret over me. **_You are so fucked up._**

By the time we’d completed our slow, laborious journey to the bed, I was already starting to feel strange. She pulled the dark green, richly embroidered comforter and silky black sheets down with one hand as she held onto me with the other. She grasped my forearm firmly, steadying me as I lowered myself painfully onto the mattress. My head swam as I rotated to lie down. “Oh fuck,” I muttered, shaking my head blearily. “Am I supposed to be feeling this weird?”

“Well you took it on an empty stomach and you’re completely exhausted, so it’s gonna hit you fast. Don’t fight it or you’re liable to start hallucinating. Just sleep, Sir,” she whispered with something rather like affection in her voice. “Goodnight, Professor.”

My lips moved of their own accord, “Stay. Just for a minute.” _What the hell?! Why would you say that?!_

She smiled down at me. “Of course, Sir. I’ll wait until you’re sleeping.”

I almost immediately drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.

I found out much later that she didn’t actually stay until I fell asleep. She sat right there on the chaise, watching over me like my own personal guardian angel until she finally fell sleep as well. She didn’t sneak out of my quarters until nearly breakfast-time.


	9. Chapter 9

I had never in my life felt so good the day after the Cruciatus Curse. I was typically awake all night, thrashing around in sheer misery. I would be so nauseated that I’d drag myself to the bathroom a dozen times to heave up bile and mucous. But Hermione’s delightful muggle pills gave me a reprieve I’d never before experienced. I couldn’t help but admire her resourcefulness and creativity. _I was raised by a muggle, for fuck’s sake! How did it never occur to me to experiment with muggle medication?!_

She appeared in my lab that evening even though it wasn’t one of our scheduled nights. Upon seeing her compassionate expression, my chest suddenly filled with shame and something akin to anger. “Miss Granger, can you please enlighten me as to why you’ve invaded my privacy on one of my few blessed days free of your bothersome presence?”

She looked at me with a pained expression, and I immediately felt terrible. Her lip quivered as she mumbled, “I just wanted to see how the medicine worked and see if you needed another dose.” She studiously avoided my eyes.

I sighed with far more resignation and annoyance than I actually felt. “I’m doing quite well, thank you, Miss Granger. But I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been ruminating on this all day, and I’ve come to the inescapable conclusion that we must immediately cease your apprenticeship.”

Her eyes bulged in shock and fury. “You can’t do that, Sir! I’ve put so much work in! You NEED me! Dumbledore told you that you had to do this! You can’t stop! You just can’t…” she trailed off, seemingly overcome with emotion.

“I can, you impertinent chit, and I will. This little… dalliance… was a bad idea from the beginning. You’re putting your life in danger. You’re putting my life in danger. This can’t continue.”

“I don’t CARE that I’m in danger! We’re ALL in danger! VOLDEMORT IS OUT THERE AND HE WON’T STOP COMING FOR US UNTIL WE’RE ALL DEAD! I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO HELP! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT??”

“Do not use his name in my presence!” I hissed furiously. I stared straight ahead, my face a stony masque. “And be that as it may, you are far too vulnerable to be privy to such valuable information. Your mind opened to mine like a fucking book, girl! What do you think the Dark Lord would do to you, huh? His Legilimency would have you reduced to a drooling vegetable in a matter of minutes!!!”

“Then teach me!”

“Excuse me?”

“Teach me Occlumency! Like you tried to do with Harry! But I’ll actually WORK! I’ll work so hard. You’ll see. I will do ANYTHING I need to keep this position. I finally have MEANING in my life, Master Snape! I feel like I’m contributing. Like I’m actually worth something to somebody. Like I’m not just a burden…” Her face was alight with passion. Her eyes glowed like coals, and her jaw was set in a stubborn expression rather like one Professor McGonagall would have given me back when I was her student.

“Ok then, little girl. If you’re so eager to have your deepest and darkest secrets probed for my amusement, then you’ll have no problem starting immediately.”

“Good. Go ahead, then.” Her chin was thrust forward in an expression of utter bull-headed surety.

“Very well. This will be highly unpleasant. Legilimens!”

I dove into those deep tawny pools and instantly felt Hermione unfolding around me. The fabric of her mind was even more complex and luxurious than I had remembered. It felt like something finer than silk, softer than fur, and sturdier than leather. I felt a bizarre compulsion to wrap myself up inside her and never leave. I focused intently, and the threads composing the 4-dimensional fabric of her mind came into focus. The color of her current state was the mostly stormy grey tones of anger, interwoven with a rather confusing array of yellows, reds, and deep purples. I reached for a particularly expressive eggplant thread and pulled…

 

 

> **I am looking up at Master Snape. My diminutive hands are clutching the lapels of his fine woolen waistcoat. My pulse is pounding deliriously in my throat, and my head is so foggy I can hardly string a thought together. I slowly, so slowly, relax my hands, spreading them across his solid, expansive chest. A thrill runs through my body as I realize that his heart is pounding, too. It flutters against my palm like a moth trapped beneath glass. The fabric of his vest is pleasantly rough, and the hard plains of his chest feel powerful and unyielding beneath my hands.**
> 
> _**What do I do? What’s happening?! I was just trying to give him some material to convince Voldemort of our ruse! And now my body is betraying me! Merlin’s beard! He must think I’m insane! Why am I touching his chest?! Why can’t I move away?? MOVE AWAY YOU STUPID GIRL!** _
> 
> **Then I notice an unfamiliar throb…**

 

“NO!!” She screeched, and I was thrown forcefully from her mind. If I hadn’t been seated I’m pretty sure I’d have fallen on my ass.

“What the hell was that??” she demanded. Her hair formed a furious halo around her head, and I could swear I saw sparks of magic igniting within it.

“I did tell you what to expect,” I drawled indifferently.

“I know what you said! But that’s not fair! You can’t look at that!” Her face was red with fury and… something else?

“Oh really? And why can I not view a memory that I was a part of?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. Her body language gradually settled from indignant rage into shame and finally into obsequiousness. She stood there for a very long time, staring at a spot a good six inches above my head.

“I have no further complaints. I apologize for my outburst, Master Snape. It was completely uncalled-for. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Sir.” She looked at me then with such regret and humiliation in her eyes that the hard ball of rage which had formed in my chest melted away in an instant. It left behind a sensation rather like a gaping hole.

Her pale, delicate face was so miserable and innocent that I imagined taking her into my arms, enveloping her, keeping her safe from everything and everyone that had ever thought to harm her. I finally shook myself out of my reverie after having spent a wholly inappropriate length of time staring at her.

“Your apology is accepted, Miss Granger. It’s exceedingly difficult to have someone rifling through your memories. Trust me, I know,” I sighed, shaking my head mournfully. “Tomorrow I will begin to teach you to occlude. Now that you’ve experienced how horrific it is for your mind to be violated by an evil, predatory man, perhaps you’ll be more motivated to learn. If you hated **me** seeing through your eyes, imagine what having the **Dark Lord** inside you would feel like.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I’ll see you tomorrow at 8 then?”

I nodded my consent. My chest continued to ache inexplicably as she turned away from me. As she strode down the short corridor I could’ve sworn I heard her murmur, “You’re not a predator and you’re not an evil man. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t convince me otherwise.”


	10. Chapter 10

I sat there at my workbench far longer than I’d care to admit, obsessively running what I had seen over and over in my mind. She certainly hadn’t been repelled by me, though she had been quite scared. _She was thinking about what your chest felt like. That’s not something a student does…_ a traitorous voice whispered _. Her heart was beating even harder than yours. She couldn’t take her hands off you…_

_No. No. She was just stunned. She froze like a rabbit who’s spotted a fox. She was brimming with fear. She’s terrified of you. Just because she wants to learn from you doesn’t mean she wants to be anywhere near you. She fought to stay because she’s so dedicated to the cause. Which, by the way, you should be too. When’s the last time you even thought about Lily? Thought about why you’re in this goddamn mess to begin with? Stop obsessing about a little girl, you fucking pervert, and get your shit together._

Many hours later I dragged myself, exhausted from self-flagellation, into my bedroom. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I lit a fire and stretched out across the chaise. A sweet, herbal scent lingered on the fabric where I laid my head. A profound sense of peace unfurled throughout my entire being, and I thought no more until morning.

I awoke with a raging hard-on, something that hadn’t happened to me in over a decade. Wondering what the hell I could’ve been dreaming about to inspire such a thing, I subjected myself to a painfully cold shower and a half-dozen futile attempts to meditate my unwelcome thoughts away. When I arrived at the Great Hall that morning, I berated myself as my eyes immediately went to the Gryffindor table. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw her. _Jesus you are fucking pathetic_ , I berated myself. Hermione was sitting there with her two pet dunderheads, laughing at some sort of story they were telling her. I got a sudden overwhelming urge to knock their stupid, over-large heads together. And then, _oh gods_ , she looked up like she could sense me watching her. She blessed me with a radiant smile, and I just fucking pretended like I hadn’t seen her.

I felt sick to my stomach all day and couldn’t bring myself to eat, but I still went to every meal. I just sat there and watched her out of the corner of my eye the entire time like a fucking prowler. I noticed she picked over her food too, and spoke to the boys far less frequently than usual. I worried that I had upset her, then cursed myself for even caring about upsetting a student.

By the time 7:55 rolled around, I was so full of adrenaline that it was all I could do to keep still. I took many calming breaths and tried to look busy for when she arrived.

“Good evening, Professor.” _Gods, she is utter perfection._

“Good evening, Miss Granger. Shall we begin?”

I settled into the enormous couch and beckoned her over. She sat next to me, far closer than I’d expected, yet not nearly close enough. “What does the human mind look like?” I inquired, turning my upper body to face her.

She gave me a startled look then giggled a bit. “I don’t know… Are we talking medically or metaphysically?”

“Metaphysically.”

“Well, I know what I’ve read from memoirs of famous Legilimens and textbook definitions of Legilimency. But I’ve also read that what someone sees in a person’s mind is highly subjective. Everyone’s brain works differently; therefore, how they visualize another person’s mind is actually more a reflection of the viewer than the viewed. Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you’re getting at. In the majority of cases, what a Legilimens experiences when they dive into another’s mind is a confusing blur of moving images, sounds, scents, and emotions. It takes a skilled and practiced Legilimens to sort through this cacophony, and there are any number of methods they might use to do so. Some use sheer force, hurting you until you show them what they want. The Dark Lord favors this approach, as you might have guessed. Some use an empathetic approach, remembering a feeling or experience from their own life, and using that to attract similar memories out of the murk.”

“Which approach do you use, Sir?”

“I use my own method, one that’s unique to myself, as far as I know. When I dive into a mind, I visualize an infinite 4-dimensional piece of fabric. It’s all around me, under me, inside me, everywhere. And the endlessly complex colors and designs represent the person’s emotions and thoughts. The more time I spend in a person’s mind, the better I’m able to read the patterns and understand what their individual colors represent. And when I want to find a certain memory, I only have to concentrate on a given portion of the fabric. If I want to look at something more closely, I simply give that thread a tug. If I want to find similar memories, I need only reel in the thread, and more will come to me,” I shrugged nonchalantly, as if I weren’t actually ridiculously proud of this technique that I’d diligently perfected over many years of practice. “It can be quite effective.”

“Wow,” she breathed, “that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.” It was all I could do not to beam at her praise. “You’ve literally fixed Legilimency! And no one even knows about this??”

“I suppose not,” I shrugged. “It’s not like I can go to the Daily Prophet and say, ‘Check out this skill I developed interrogating the Dark Lord’s prisoners!’ They tend to frown upon those sorts of things. And who knows if my method would even work for other people? Maybe there’s something particular about my mind that allows me to create these advanced visualizations. Maybe I’m just that good of a manipulator... Who knows?”

“So not that I don’t find this completely fascinating, because I do, but aren’t I here to learn Occlumency? Why are you telling me so much about Legilimency?”

“Occlumency and Legilimency are but two sides of the same coin, Miss Granger. You can’t have a comprehensive understanding of one without the other. I didn’t teach Potter Legilimency because he’s a hot-headed imbecile who I don’t trust poking about in my mind. You can easily do irreparable damage to a person’s psyche, often without even meaning to. In so many ways, he was doomed to failure from the start. You can’t effectively defend against an attack you don’t understand.”

“So I’m going to learn Legilimency too?”

“Yes. And if I have my way, you’re going to be the best goddamn Legilimens and Occlumens alive,” I proclaimed with quiet passion, surprising even myself with the sentiment. “You are no longer simply a potions apprentice, Miss Granger. You are MY apprentice... And I will give you all the skills and tools I possibly can, laboring in every conceivable way, to ensure that you live to see the end of the war.” I stared fiercely into her eyes, and I saw it reflected back ten-fold.

“We’re both going to see the end of this war, Master Snape. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Now there’s the Gryffindor warrior I’ve been looking for...”


	11. Chapter 11

“The first step to Occluding your mind is learning to channel all of your surface emotions away. The process is effectively identical to something the muggles do called meditation… I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it before.”

She giggled a bit, “Yes, sir, I am familiar.”

I rolled my eyes and continued, “The idea is to clear your mind of all extraneous dialog, images, etcetera. Some people imagine a sunny beach or deep woods. I myself visualize a plain white room that is suffused with light and warmth, though it has no doors or windows. You must meditate as long as you possibly can before you meet with someone you fear may Legilimize you. I find it to be beneficial in my everyday life to meditate every morning, and frequently throughout the day as needed.”

“It is absolutely crucial that you perform this step. If your emotions are at the surface of your mind when a person dives, you’re immediately vulnerable. They can start pulling memories associated with those emotions within seconds of invading your mind. They can find your deepest, darkest secrets in less than a minute. However, if your mind is clear when they dive, all they see is a general fog of images and sensations. They must begin rifling through your memories essentially at random, just hoping to find what they need. Legilimizing is very magically draining, so the longer you can keep them from finding anything useful, the more likely it is that they’ll back out from sheer exhaustion. As you become more practiced, you can simply fog out anything you don’t wish them to see. When you reach my level of experience, you can actually feed them images. You can make them think they’re finding exactly what they wanted to find, while you keep your true secrets safely locked away,” I finished and couldn’t help but quirk my eyebrow amusedly at Hermione’s rapt attention.

“So what are we going to do tonight, sir?”

“We’re going to meditate.”

“Seriously?” she asked incredulously, a frown wrinkling her porcelain forehead.

“You sound just like Potter,” I scoffed. “What part of ‘this is the first and most important step’ did you not comprehend?”

“Yeah, yeah I got that,” she grumbled, “But I can do that alone in my room. I’m here with you now. It just feels like we should be doing something, you know?”

I gave her a smirk and asked, “What would you like to be doing, little girl?” I tried my best not to sound too salacious, but I couldn’t help myself.

She blushed bright red, then burst out into a fit of giggles. “Professor Snape, I don’t think you’ve ever made a joke before!”

I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms. “I make jokes. You children are just too dim to recognize them.”

We spent the next two hours doing our best to clear our minds of extraneous thought. But she was so close that I could smell her hair, a familiar sweetly herbaceous scent, and I realized that she must have stayed in my room the other night far later than I had assumed. I couldn’t help but ponder all the possible explanations and ramifications of this piece of information.

_She ought to have left the second you fell asleep, but she stayed! That has to mean something, right? That chaise is an insanely uncomfortable place to spend the night. My back is in knots today because of it! She didn’t want to leave me... She wanted to be with me... Oh my gods, she wanted to be with **ME!!!**_

I didn’t seem to be capable of keeping my damned eyes shut. She was just so picturesque. She had this quirky little smile on her appealingly pink lips, like she knew I was staring at her and found it amusing. Her eyelashes were impossibly long and dark, and they looked so gorgeous framed against her milky white, freckled cheek. I’ve never painted a thing in my life, but I suddenly found myself with a powerful need to capture such ephemeral beauty.

My heart literally, physically, **ached** to look upon her. I felt unworthy to even exist in her presence.

The hours passed so quickly that I didn’t even notice when the time came for her to leave. My cock was throbbing painfully, and I was miserable with longing. She eventually opened her eyes (to my great disappointment) and expressed her surprise at the late hour. I agreed and bade her goodnight.

But then she did the maddest thing-

Right as she was about to enter the hallway, she suddenly spun back around. She approached me practically at a run and flung her arms around my neck. I was shocked beyond all belief, but I embraced her back on sheer instinct.

My stomach was an explosion of fireworks, and my mind was convinced I had to be hallucinating...

But she just kept holding on...

And then she tried to pull me closer, so I wrapped her tightly in my arms and lifted her off the ground. She laughed delightedly as her face was squashed into the front of my robes. I felt myself smiling like a fool... but she couldn’t see my face, so what did it matter?

As I set her back down, she lowered her arms from my shoulders and reached beneath my overcoat to wrap them around my slim waist. She still had her face buried in my chest, studiously avoiding my gaze.

I allowed my hands to wander slightly, gently tracing patterns on her smooth, delicate back. I tried my hardest to ignore the way the straps of her bra felt beneath my fingertips and the delicious way my erection dug into her stomach. I knew she could feel it, but I had trouble caring.

I don’t know how long we held each other, but it felt like an eternity. Like we’d created the most perfect place imaginable and couldn’t bear to leave it. Eventually, it was I who was forced to end our transcendent moment. I allowed myself to bury my hand in her glorious hair for a few blessed seconds before tipping her head up. “It’s time for you to go to bed, Miss Granger.”

She nodded, removing her arms and backing away meekly. The spell was broken. She was my student again. She said nothing, just grabbed her bag from where she’d tossed it heedlessly to the ground. I watched her go while every cell in my body shrieked at me to make her stay by any means necessary. I stood and stared at the wall she’d disappeared through, begging the universe to make her reappear.

After far too long, I dragged myself to my bedroom. I stripped off my clothes, tossing them across the room in a juvenile display of frustration. I climbed into an icy cold shower, but nothing could dull my need for her. I stroked myself, remembering how tiny and perfect she’d felt against me. And, oh gods, the absolutely filthy sensation of my erection pressing against her taut stomach. The feeling of burying my hand in her hair, imagining pulling on it as I invaded her succulent little mouth with my tongue. Her beautiful eyes, full of fire and passion and anger and fierceness and oh gods…

I finished myself in a deeply conflicted wave of sheer elation and shamed release. I’d never felt so amazing or hated myself more.


	12. Chapter 12

_Damn that bastard to hell. Who the bloody hell does he think he is? Why does my soul have to be forfeit for HIS stupid fucking choice to put on that accursed ring?! He presumes too much! Maybe the old Snape wouldn’t have given a damn about putting down a sick old man, but now all I can think about is what SHE’S going to think of me. She would hate me for the rest of her life. And of course Dumbledore forced me to train her, because he’d been planning all along for me to do this final wretched task for him. He’s always ten steps ahead of the rest of us. Preparing me for the sacrifice, and her to take my place. Always ever so practical. Always calculating._

I ranted vehemently to myself as I strode back to my lab after an utterly futile meeting with Dumbledore.

_What a goddamn waste of time. He doesn’t give a damn what I have to say. Every last one of us is naught but a disposable fucking pawn in his and the Dark Lord’s bloody chess match. Well, I’m going to show both of them. I’m my own man now, and my own master. I’ll do what I have to in order to protect Hermione, but I’m done serving the whims of another._

I was still fuming many hours later when Hermione arrived at my lab. We’d been working on Occlumency and Legilimency for a few weeks, and she’d been making truly exceptional progress. We were now meeting five nights per week, something that I’d suggested and she’d whole-heartedly agreed to, saying that we had far too much material to cover. By now she was a near-constant presence in my lab. She told me that she always got more homework done there than the common room or library. Often she’d come straight from dinner and spend all evening. She checked with me constantly to make sure she wasn’t invading my space. And of course I was delighted to have her, but I just grunted my begrudging acquiescence.

I had always done most of my grading and lesson planning in my classroom office, but over the months I had gradually and inexorably moved practically everything into my lab. I extended the eastern wall and put in a request for two quite sizable desks, one for me and one for her. When they arrived, I set them up facing one another like mirror images. The voice of the starry-eyed romantic who’d sprung to life in my head was imagining the hours we’d spend there, wrapped up in our individual scholastic pursuits. The image was so picture-perfect and lovely that I nearly wept.

Hermione and I had recently had a huge break-through with Legilimency. She had finally been able to create the fabric visualization upon diving into my mind. I was so proud of her I felt as if my heart would break from it. I wondered what colors she saw as she gazed upon me. Surely she’d see my constant desire, the hesitant and fleeting moments of joy she brought me, my all-consuming jealousy, and most of all, my swift and punishing anger.

We’d been exceedingly cautious in our forays into each other’s minds. I think we both felt we had too much to hide, and didn’t want to provoke one another. But every trip into her mind was a constant battle with the angels of my better nature. I wanted nothing more than to examine every last one of those dark purple threads. _Who made her feel that way?! When did it happen? Has someone touched her?! Has someone kissed her?! Does she masturbate? Could she be thinking of me while doing so?_

She had just Legilimized into me for the first time that evening when I realized that I hadn’t cleared my mind nearly well enough yet. I could see dozens of memories floating to the surface, borne upon residual waves of anger at Dumbledore. She saw a flash of me yelling at him in his office earlier that evening, but I quickly fogged it out. Ever prideful, I allowed her to watch me valiantly fighting to save him from that goddamn ring for quite a while before I forced it away as well. Now there was a fast and furious sequence of random flashes as she was flipping through this obviously fruitful path of inquiry. And all of a sudden there it was: 

 

 

 

> **I am a quivering heap on the floor of Dumbledore’s office. I quake with sobs, so full of despair that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will never feel anything but misery every single hour of every single day of the rest of my life. I want nothing more than to die, right here and now.**
> 
> **What purpose is there in going on? Without her, my life has ceased to have any meaning. The Death Eaters can give me all the power and wealth in the world, but what does it matter without her? I choke on my sobs, then vomit rancid whiskey all over his carpet.**
> 
> **And still he looks on, thoughtfully yet distantly, like he is pretending I'm not the most pathetic and disgusting thing he’s ever experienced in his life.**

 

And with a massive struggle, I shoved a barrier over this memory as well. I felt Hermione rooting around, trying to find another way through. But I had created a barrier as close to impenetrable as humanly possible. Eventually, her strokes and prods slowed, and she gently slid out of my mind.

As my vision returned I found that I feared to gaze into her eyes, and my gut clenched with trepidation. When I finally looked up at her, I found that tears were spilling from her eyes and her lower lip was trembling. “Gods, Professor. I’ve never felt such despair in all my life. How could you ever survive such a thing?” she choked out. She was crying in earnest now. “You loved her so much… No, no you LOVE her so much! I can still see it in you. There are pink threads EVERYWHERE,” she wailed.

Exceedingly uncomfortable, I tried to soothe her, “It’s normal to get caught up another person’s emotions when you’ve gone so deeply into their mind. You can lose that separation between simply observing their emotions and actually experiencing their emotions as if they were your own. You’ve gotten too caught up in my head. Just concentrate on your own mind and your own thoughts.”

“Gods, you don’t understand **anything!!!** I don’t know why I even bother with you!! You just think of me as this annoying kid, hanging on your coattails all the time... **Like I’m a little pet for your amusement** ,” she spat furiously.

“Just try to clear your mind,” I spoke slowly and soothingly, “Think of a white room.”

“Oh go shove that white room right up your ass!” she shrieked, and I was far too taken aback to respond with any kind of reprimand.

She yanked her bag off the floor and inelegantly tossed it over her shoulder. She looked at me again, let out an inarticulate sound of infuriation somewhere between a screech and a huff, then stormed out the room. I just sat paralyzed in her wake, shell-shocked and bewildered.


	13. Chapter 13

Shaking my head dazedly, I reached into my desk drawer. As I lifted the lid of the intricately carved wooden box, the most comforting aroma in the observable universe bloomed around me. As I folded and rolled a filter from a thick scrap of parchment, I pondered what I could have done differently. _I can’t help the things I felt before she was even born. And why does she care, anyway? It didn’t have anything to do with her. I know you can have trouble keeping your emotions separate at first, but it usually fades really quickly..._

_Unless she wasn’t just feeling your emotions. Maybe she was feeling her own emotions. Maybe she was JEALOUS of Lily..._

_No. No that’s absurd. Occam’s Razor. She was just caught up in the aftershock. That’s all. Stop trying to convince yourself of the impossible. You’re pathetic._

I carefully twisted the corner of a feather-light rolling paper, then loaded the little envelope I’d created with a particularly stunning Indica-heavy strain of Afghan kush. I settled my filter into the open end and deftly rolled everything into a perfectly tight little cylinder. I ran the edge of the paper ever-so-gently across my moistened lower lip and sealed it snugly.

I removed the formal high-collared frock coat I’d worn all day, followed by my black button-down, to reveal my favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. It was threadbare, had no fewer than four holes, and confused the hell out of my fellow professors. Many of them seemed to think Ozzy Osborne was some kind of mad dark wizard or something. After a long moment of debate, I selected Pink Floyd’s Animals from my crate of albums. I placed it reverentially upon the turntable, lowering the needle to the edge of the record. I lit the spliff from the end of my wand as the first notes of music shimmered into life, and the drag was like heaven on earth. The smoke was musky and deeply complex, with distinct notes of coffee and citrus. I finished it so quickly, I immediately rolled two more.

I was sprawled out on the couch with Sheep blasting at a truly obnoxious volume when the entry wall suddenly dissolved. “Oh shit!” I coughed out, choking on a huge lung-full of smoke. I hurriedly crushed out the spliff on the ground, but there was really no point. The entire lab was hazy and stunk like a head shop, and I had fucking Pink Floyd of all things playing.

“Umm, I’m really, really sorry to disturb you, Master Snape. I just felt so guilty that I couldn’t fall asleep until I came and apologized. I, uh, I didn’t mean to scream at you. It was totally out of nowhere. I don’t know what happened,” she looked at the ground shamefully.

Way too stoned to deal with complex sentiments, I just responded, “It’s all forgotten, Miss Granger.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Umm, just a quick question. Are you, uhh, smoking pot, Professor?”

“I’m an adult. I can do as I damn well please, Miss Granger.”

“Yeah no. No, I agree. I was just wondering…”

I barked out a laugh, and she looked taken aback. “You want to try it, don’t you?” I choked, coughing and cracking up at myself. She swallowed hard and didn’t respond.

“Come here, then.” I patted the couch, and she timidly sat a couple feet away from me. “Now you can’t tell a soul about this, you understand? Very few wizards use marijuana, and it isn’t against Ministry law, but I’m quite certain the school would still frown on this.” I lit the third joint, getting it rolling before passing it to her. “Now just pull on it like you’re trying to breathe through a straw.” She took a surprisingly large hit, held it for a split second, then fell into an enormous choking fit. I snatched it away from her before she could accidently burn herself.

“Merlin’s bollocks!” she croaked when her coughing finally died down. I chuckled and patted her back bracingly. “Take smaller hits for now,” I advised. She nodded and I passed it back to her. Her subsequent drags went down much easier. I was so mellow by now that I let her smoke most of the rest of it herself. I just sat back and watched her, adrift in admiration. She seemed unaware of my staring, or at least unconcerned with it. When she’d smoked it down to the filter, I took it back from her and stubbed it out on the ground.

She settled back into the couch, sighing contentedly, “Wow. I feel so excellent. I’m trying so hard, and I can’t even remember all the homework I have to do tomorrow. Do you know how incredible that is?”

“Oh, I know exactly how you feel, Miss Granger.”

We spent the next hour mostly in companionable silence. She seemed to be enjoying my music, and when the record ended I let her pick the next one. She chose Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water, saying it was one of her parents’ favorites. I told her to stop making me feel so damn old, and the sound of her laugh was so sweet that a little balloon of joy inflated in my chest. When she came back from changing the record, she was sitting far closer than she had been before. I was acutely aware of every miniscule movement she made. My stoned brain told me to just reach out for her, pull her to me, but I fought it with every ounce of my being. Then she stretched and rearranged her robes, and all of a sudden her thigh was touching mine.

Blood instantly rushed between my legs, much to my humiliation. _Wow, you’re such a man. Getting hard from just your goddamn legs touching. And the other night you came just from thinking about her eyes. What the hell is wrong with you?_

We spent most of the next hour like that, as I tried in vain not to focus on the object of my obsessions. The tingling heat that had started from our point of contact had now grown to consume my entire body with mind-numbing need.

By the time she left, thanking me and bidding me goodnight, I was nearly delirious. I wrenched my trousers down, not even bothering to go to the bedroom. I could still feel the heat of her leg pressing against mine as I imagined her turning her body, swinging her other leg around to straddle me. I could very nearly taste the musky ganja on her tongue as I fantasized about her kissing me… so shy, so sweet, so gentle. I turned my face to the side, burying my nose in the spot her head had been resting mere seconds before. The delicious, intoxicating scent of her put me over edge, and I came abruptly and violently. I cried out her first name tearfully as my hand filled with my own fluid, and I didn’t even have the decency to feel ashamed.


	14. Chapter 14

“Which filter should I be using to strain the Steel Stomach Solution?” Hermione asked me a few days later during one of our marathon brewing sessions. We had three batches going of a potion that I’d created when I feared the Dark Lord was going to start using Veritaserum during our meetings. It is a quite brilliant concoction, if I do say so myself, that forms a semi-permeable membrane lining the interior of the esophagus, stomach, and intestines. It allows nutrients and water to pass the barrier, but blocks any substance with magical properties. The main problem I had with perfecting the mixture was that it was exceedingly hard on the stomach. It damaged the lining of the gastrointestinal tract so severely that I’d be unable to eat for days after using it.

“Sizes 7 through 13 sequentially,” I replied, comparing the viscosity and color of our various batches for quality control.

“Wouldn’t you need to take it down to the microscopic level in order to properly filter the potion?”

“Indeed. But the viscosity of the draught is such that it took hours for a small amount to flow through the 10 micron filter, and expired before it could even finish,” I replied with a small shrug.

Her face was thoughtful for a long moment before she suggested, “What about distilling? Muggles do it for alcohol, water, all sorts of stuff…”

I immediately scoffed, but then the wheels in my mind began to turn. “Well, all the important elements ARE volatile enough to enter a gaseous state at a comparatively low temperature. And it would leave behind the suspended particles from the powered quartz that irritates the stomach so badly. But how would it affect the acidity? It’s already quite low in pH, and condensing it would exacerbate the problem,” I frowned.

“Why not try to even it out by adding something basic? Like calcium carbonate? Or even milk?”

“Hmm… you know that might just work! Adding non-magical components shouldn’t affect the magical properties of the potion, but they could ameliorate the negative physical effects it causes in the human body…” I pondered.

“Should we try it?? We can do one of the batches as the control, one with milk, and one with calcium carbonate! You did say that Kingsley Shacklebolt only requested two flasks, so there should be plenty left over to experiment on…” she asked excitedly, her eyes shining with cleverness.

And don’t you know it, the brat was right! I had spent three damn years working on this potion, and she fixed it in a fucking day! We found that the antacid Hermione excitedly produced from her schoolbag made the mixture far too thick. It had an exceedingly unpleasant mouth-feel, was challenging to swallow, and left a horrible film coating the tongue. The milk, however, when combined with the distilled potion with the help of an emulsifying agent, thinned the mixture quite nicely and brought the pH down by a point and a half.

“Quite remarkable, Miss Granger,” I murmured many hours later. She was curled up on the couch, half asleep, as I was putting the finishing touches on the suspension spells for the flasks of potion.

She smiled at me sleepily and gave a huge yawn, and the image was so picture-perfect it broke my heart. “I don’t know that you’ve ever given me a compliment, Master Snape,” she quipped.

“Nonsense, every moment I’m not actively criticizing is a compliment,” I replied crisply. She honored me with an eye-roll and a giggle that made my stomach do somersaults. “Now, head up to bed. It’s nearly 4 am. You did excellent work today, Miss Granger.” She gave me a brilliant smile as she vacated the lab, leaving me hopelessly bereft as always. “Good night, Professor. Thanks for actually listening to my suggestions instead of passing them off as muggle nonsense like most wizards would.”

I laid awake a long time that night, pondering the extrapolations of what she’d said. _Muggle nonsense indeed…_


	15. Chapter 15

The following evening was Slughorn’s Christmas party, so I couldn’t discuss with Hermione the myriad ideas that had occurred to me during the night. My mind was racing all day, suffused with intellectual inspiration. I was exhausted and distracted, so I was incensed when a silvery phoenix appeared in my office and informed me that my appearance at the party was mandatory, being as I was a Head of House. I grumbled to myself as I dressed in my finest high-collared velvet dress robes. Too lazy to take an actual shower, I cast a cleansing charm on my hair to no visible effect, as per usual. Sighing with resignation, I dragged my feet all the way to Slughorn’s transfigured office.

My eyes locked onto the bar immediately upon entering the fray, and I made a beeline for it. I tossed two large glasses of Ogden’s Firewhiskey down my throat post-haste, and grabbed a third as my throat burned and my eyes watered.

 _Fucking parties. There’s nothing in the world I hate more than fucking parties. I wish the Dark Lord would summon me right now. I’d rather shit my pants from Cruciatus tremors than be inside this waking nightmare,_ I bitched to myself.

I found myself a nice secluded corner in which to sip my booze and glower at the joyful masses. I was mostly successful in avoiding human interaction, with the exception of Slughorn stumbling over to welcome me. I quickly distracted the drunken wizard by pretending to see the captain of the Holyhead Harpies in the opposite corner. He blessedly scampered off to fairer conversational pastures.

I was heading to the bar for a fifth drink when She appeared. The very air around her seemed to glow with diffuse light. Certainly every head in the room turned at once to take her in. Hermione was wearing this truly incredible crimson gown. The long, flowing translucent sleeves were off her shoulders, and the sweetheart neckline perfectly framed her flawless décolletage. The bodice was boned and fitted to her impossibly tiny waist, and the long skirt fell away from her hips weightlessly, as if the fabric itself were enchanted.

She’d done something to her mad riot of hair such that it formed enormous, impossibly shiny ringlets. These were piled artfully on her head, with just a few loose strands tantalizingly tickling her neck and cheek. My breath caught in my throat, and even my cock was so stunned that it took a minute for the blood to start flowing. She was truly a goddess on earth, come to humble us with her all-consuming magnificence.

She entered the room with Potter and Lovegood, but was immediately joined by that wanker Cormac McLaggen, to my extreme displeasure. _What the hell is she doing coming here with him?? **That** fucking imbecile?! He can’t even cast a fucking shield charm or crush a goddamn dung beetle properly!_ Her body language was uncomfortable, which I attributed to all the attention she was receiving for her remarkable appearance. She and her friends immediately found a secluded corner as McLaggen strode self-assuredly towards the bar where I stood. My lip curled in a sneer of purest loathing as he grabbed and opened four Butterbeers, whistling cheerfully to himself. He gave myself and the other professors cocky, fetching smiles as he sauntered through the room.

I spent the next hour and a half stealthily observing Miss Granger’s date as I imbibed truly irresponsible volumes of Ogden’s. She didn’t speak much, but he seemed to be keeping up more than enough dialog for the both of them. I carefully avoided her eye-line to prevent her from noticing my espionage. She moved around the room a number of times, doggedly pursued by McLaggen. She danced with Lovegood and Potter briefly, then slipped away to conceal herself in a curtained corner alcove. I edged closer, giving myself a view through a slim crack between the drapes. She was immediately joined by that bloody fucking wanker- so quickly it was as if he’d been summoned.

He bent down to whisper in her ear, fingering one of those impeccable ringlets with his foul rat hands. His handsome face was slightly predatory as his wavy golden locks fell into his eyes. And then his fucking hand was on her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her back was to me, so I couldn’t see her expression, but she didn’t move away. Her hands were splayed on his chest, reminding me wretchedly of when she’d done the same to me.

My mind was a fog, and I could hear nothing except a loud angry buzz, rather like a swarm of bees inside my skull. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to burn the entire goddamn fucking building to the ground. And then, the pig-fucker placed his filthy paw on the back of her neck, pulling her in and kissing her assertively. My head exploded- shattering any semblance of self control or logical thought.

My vision went black with rage, and by the time it returned she was on her way out the door. McLaggen was in hot pursuit, so I grabbed him roughly by the collar. He clutched his throat and made choking sounds, but I did not release him. I hissed poisonously in his ear, “If you try that shit ever again I swear I will cut off your dick and shove it so far up your ass you choke on it, got it?” He nodded frantically, pawing at my hand. I released him with a whispered, “If I catch you so much as LOOKING at that girl…” He nodded, pants-shittingly-terrified, and scampered off. Slightly gratified but nowhere near assuaged, I set off down the hall in the direction Hermione had gone.

I turned a corner and caught a glimpse of her disappearing into a hidden stairwell concealed behind a tapestry. I broke into a sprint, catching up with her at the bottom of the stairs. She startled, spinning around with her wand in-hand. “Petrificus totalus!” she shouted, and I easily parried the curse with a non-verbal shield charm. “Oh crap, I’m sorry Professor! I didn’t know it was you!” Her face was flushed, and she had a wild look in her eye.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” I shouted, apoplectic with fury.

“I just told you! It was an accident! I didn’t know it was you!”

“Not the spell, you stupid girl! That shit in the party! Did you forget that you were at a fucking school-sanctioned event, surrounded by your professors and influential members of the wizarding community?! Did you think it was APPROPRIATE to engage in such a flagrant display? Did you even consider what people would THINK about you, flaunting your body in that dress and tonguing boys in corners?!” I could feel my eyes bulging, and I was certain I looked quite deranged.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she flew into a rage. “Flaunting my body?? Tonguing boys?? Honestly, Professor! Is that what you think of me?? That I’m this brazen… hussy??”

I shrugged and responded rather cruelly, “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“For your information, McLaggen kissed ME! I didn’t want him to! I was PUSHING HIM AWAY!! I only agreed to come with him because he asked me like a dozen times and the girls in my dorm said I’d look like a loser if I didn’t come with a date!” Her blazing eyes looked quite mad, her hair starting to tumble out of its elegant knot.

“Is that so?” I snarled, looming over her, and she retreated until her back was pressed against the stone wall. Her hands were spread wide, grasping at the rough stone on either of her.

“So you just chose to wear this revealing dress because of social pressure, huh?” I whispered dangerously, advancing on her. Her eyes were wide, flickering rapidly between my own. She bit her quivering bottom lip fearfully.

“No! No. I wore it because I wanted to… because… gods…” she let out a little scream of frustration, sounding nearly as crazed as I felt. She was panting, chest rising and falling beautifully in that tight bodice. I was standing so close to her now that I could smell her perfume, her sweat, her breath…

Very drunk and equally delirious, I placed my right hand on the icy cold stone beside her head. At such close range, I noticed a subtle shimmer of magic around her collarbone, so I cast the counter-spell with a wordless wave of my left hand. The glamour fell away, displaying the long, razor-thin scar that sliced diagonally across her breastbone. I placed my left index finger at the top of the silvery line and traced it, ending at the swell of her breast where the scar disappeared into the fabric of her bodice. She let out a gasp, her eyes wild and unreadable.

“You didn’t need that glamour,” I whispered huskily. “You look better this way…” As if in a trance, I pressed the full length of my body against hers, and she groaned quietly. She looked up at me, her expression indecipherable, and said nothing.

I tried to legilimize into her mind, but I’d had far too much to drink.

I placed my other hand beside her, trapping her between my lithe but powerful arms. I leaned over, lowering my face to her own, “Why did you wear this dress, girl?” I breathed.

We were so close now that I could feel every gasping breath that escaped her lips. She shook her head but didn’t break eye contact.

I reached for her, stroking my index finger ever-so-lightly from her temple, down her elegant throat, and across her collarbone. She let out a delightful little moan.

“Can I guess?” I murmured hungrily.

Her eyes were hooded, her lips swollen and wet. She nodded, frantically-

Then, a door slammed loudly in the corridor, causing both of us to nearly jump out of our skins. I peeked out from behind the tapestry and saw Draco Malfoy stumbling drunkenly down the hall. “Shit! Fuck,” I cursed.

“Go back upstairs, Hermione, and go to bed. I need to take care of this.” She nodded with an expression surprisingly devoid of the relief I had expected to see. She made her way carefully up the stairs, unsteady on her low heels. I watched her the whole way, cursing myself in the most disparaging terms I could muster.


	16. Chapter 16

After the fruitless confrontation with Draco, I stormed back to my quarters. I gave severe detentions to two couples I found canoodling in hidden nooks. I didn’t get nearly as much satisfaction from this as I usually did, and I felt a little pang of jealousy each time. _These kids don’t know how lucky they are. Oh, to be young and beautiful. What a luxury to have the person you desire want you in return._

Back in my quarters, I smoked and continued to drink my way into a stupor. At some point I found myself slumped in the corner of the shower, shaking and crying pathetically. _Wow, Severus. You’re a real piece of work. You scare the shit out of the girl, practically molesting her. She shows up at a party with a beautiful, age-appropriate man, and you act like she’s done something deplorable. She should be with someone like him. Why would she ever want you? You’re despicable. You’re ugly. You’re a painfully awkward, greasy-haired, big-nosed fiend. You’re a fucking Death Eater, and she’s best friends with the Chosen One. In what universe would she lower herself, degrade herself, to be with you? And now you’ve gone and terrified her so much, she’s never going to want to work with you again. Those hours with her in your lab are the highlight of your entire fucking life, and you just ruined it because you got drunk and jealous. Disgusting. Shameful. Animal._

I woke the next morning deep in the throes of the worst hangover of my life. I spent the entire day in bed, smoking ganja, drinking water, and trying not to vomit.

Sunday came around, and although I felt slightly better, I couldn’t bear to face the outside world. I spent the day pacing my lab, talking to myself, and utterly failing to distract myself with a myriad of tasks. I ordered my meals delivered from the kitchen, but the plates were still full when the house elves took them away.

It was nearly 10 pm when the wall dissolved. I was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, smoking from my heavy glass water pipe. I was deep in a spiraling depression, Disintegration by The Cure blasting from the record player. I couldn’t even bring myself to look up when she stood before me, hands on her hips. “So you ARE alive, then,” she said with a scolding tone, “You’ve missed the last SIX meals. I was worried You-Know-Who had killed you… or you’d killed yourself with alcohol poisoning…” she fretted.

“Well as you can see, I am alive, for the most part, so go on then, leave, there’s no reason for you to be here,” I mumbled, staring resolutely at her knees.

“Professor, this behavior is completely unacceptable! Look at yourself! You’re a mess!”

I looked up at her then, shocked, but lacking much venom. “Excuse me? I can do as I damn well please. Last I checked, YOU’RE the apprentice, and I’M the master.”

“Be that as it may, you need someone to look out for you. You obviously aren’t great at taking care of yourself…” she admonished. I gave her a low growl and curled my lip derisively, but said nothing. “Ok, so I know about you talking to Malfoy. Harry overheard you guys arguing. I know you’re under SO much strain right now. Dumbledore and You-Know-Who pulling you in every direction. I know You-Know-Who is summoning you nearly every other week now. It’s so obvious when you kick me out of the lab early. I’m not stupid, you know…”

She took a breath and continued, “It’s understandable that you’d crack once in a while. You’re only human! But you have to know I’m here for you, Sir. I’m always here for you. I can help you. I’d do anything for you…” she trailed off.

I spoke finally, “I sincerely doubt you’d do anything for me, Hermione.”

She shook her head, but dropped the subject. “Come on, then, Sir. It’s time for bed.”

I allowed her to help me up, and with one tiny, perfect hand on my shoulder, she guided me into my bedroom. I noticed that I was wearing an old concert tee, so faded as to be illegible, and elastic-waist sweatpants. _How utterly humiliating. Letting the girl put you to bed like a child, and you’re in the least attractive clothes humanly possible._ Trying to maintain some modicum of masculinity, I pulled my shirt off and tossed it in the corner of the room.

Hermione’s eyes were huge, taking in my disfigured visage. My slender torso was criss-crossed by countless scars, some paper-thin and silvery, some protruding and angry red. _Pssh, yeah, that’ll convince her you’re still a man. Let her see how you’ve allowed yourself to be abused for longer than she’s been alive. That’s really attractive_ , I scoffed at myself. She blushed intensely and quickly turned away to light a fire.

I climbed into bed, settling into a pile of pillows and pulling the covers to my navel. “The train comes tomorrow morning…” she pointed out, though I was obviously aware. I simply nodded in acknowledgement.

“So maybe I’ll just stay here and read for a bit…” she practically whispered. I said nothing. “Maybe I could read aloud? Till you fall asleep?”

“That would be pleasurable, Hermione,” I murmured, stoned and sleepy.

“You’ve called me Hermione three times now, Sir,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her from her perch next to the fireplace. I opened my eyes and gazed at her for a long time. “I suppose I have,” I replied simply.

After a long minute, she pulled out a textbook and began to regale me with accounts of Goblin riots in the 1700’s. I watched her avidly, then languidly, until finally, much later, her sweet, mellifluous voice lulled me to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

When I awoke the next afternoon, the train had long since departed. I roamed the grounds for hours, willing the biting cold to clear my mind. _Why did she come to you? She wouldn’t have done that if she were scared. It certainly wasn’t guilt; she has nothing to feel guilty about. You behaved like a complete monster, yet still she came to you..._

_She was worried about you. No sense of professional or filial responsibility could cause **that** , right?_

_But no, you’re thinking like a Slytherin. She’s a fucking Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake! She can’t help herself! You’re like a baby bird with a broken wing to her. She could never see you in that way- not like a lover. Not like a man._

The first week of Christmas holiday passed by with interminable sluggishness. The tiny round table in the Hall was far more than I could bear in my current state, so I cooked most of my own meals. I took to making the longest, most involved dishes possible in a futile attempt to keep my mind occupied. I made paella, Peking duck, and beef wellington- all while impossibly drunk.

I sat in my lab and stared at Hermione’s desk for hours, mournfully sipping single malt Scotch. I paced my room like a caged animal every night, unable to sleep unless I drugged myself with numerous potions. My days bled together into an endless stream of anxiety, self-loathing, and misery, barely tempered by the substances I consumed. Fortunately, the other professors were used to my moodiness, particularly around the holidays, so no one thought anything of it.

It was around 3 AM on the eighth day of the break when I received the owl. I was prowling the grounds around the lake, having been awoken from a fitful sleep by yet another nightmare. The enormous, imperious-looking Eagle Owl alighted on my shoulder, startling me out of a particularly venomous bout of self-recrimination. It held out its leg pompously, and as I untied the letter, I saw the Malfoy Family’s distinctively intricate wax seal on the envelope. Wondering what the hell was going on, I opened it and began to read.

 

 

 

> My Dearest Severus,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well on this Christmas holiday. I haven’t written you much in these past years; I know serving at the pleasure of the Dark Lord has put rather a strain on our friendship. But once upon a time we were the best of friends, remember? How powerful we felt during our initiation… Like nothing could ever touch us! The connection we felt, being a part of something bigger than ourselves, bigger than anything we’d ever imagined! I don’t know why I’m expressing such sentimentality, but I suppose it’s an attempt to convince you of my good intentions. (Or as close to good intentions as are possible for a man such as myself.) 
> 
> I hold a privileged position- hosting the Dark Lord in my home. I am privy to much valuable information… but also to things I’d rather not be a part of. The day after Draco returned from Hogwarts, the Dark Lord requested to speak with him alone. My son, my only heir, was locked in a room with Him for hours, as I wondered impotently whether he would be returned to me in one piece.
> 
> It took days to get it out of him, but eventually Draco admitted that the Dark Lord had been interrogating him for information about Potter, Weasley, and your Granger. And when he couldn’t remember anything He deemed useful, my precious boy’s mind was raped over and over again for any useful memories, no matter how old or poorly-remembered. For the last two days, Draco has been erratic, volatile, and oftentimes incoherent. 
> 
> While my dedication to the cause will never waver, I must admit that I am beginning to fear for the well-being of my family. Draco is a young man, still growing every day, and I can’t afford to have his mind devastated by the impatience of the Dark Lord. So take this letter as an olive branch, in the hopes that we may form a more mutually beneficial partnership in the future… A partnership that ensures both of us, and those under our protection, survive to the end of this war. 
> 
> I offer you this piece of information as a token of my good will: The Dark Lord was able to ascertain the professions of the Granger girl’s parents from Draco’s memories. I was then commanded to track down their dental practice using muggle business listings on the internet. He has an emissary scouting their office as you read this letter. The Death Eater’s instructions are to follow them home this evening, dispose of the parents, and bring the girl to the Dark Lord for interrogation. I assume he means to offer the girl to you as some sort of gift or bargaining chip to ensure your continued compliance.
> 
> Do with this information what you will, but know that I do not offer it out of the kindness of my heart. No one is better placed or better equipped to protect my son than you, Severus. In return for saving your girl, I entreat you to save my boy.
> 
> Yours always,  
>  Lucius Malfoy

 

 

By the time I finished the letter, my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my throat. _Shit! Fuck! Damnit! Now you’ve really done it! You’ve put her entire fucking family in danger! All because you’re a weak, disgusting pervert!_ I set off for the castle at a dead sprint, wheels spinning in my mind.

I broke into McGonagall’s office far too easily. _Damn woman, aren’t you the slightest bit paranoid? Just a plain lock on the door? Not even a magical ward?_ I rifled through her student files impatiently, eventually finding Hermione’s folder. I cast a quick Geminus charm on it, taking my copy with me. I flipped through the pages as I headed out of the castle and back down the grounds. I finally found it as I exited the Hogwarts gates, a copy of Hermione’s acceptance letter, buried among truly stellar grade reports and numerous accounts of her rabble-rousing with Potter.

I made sure to cast a powerful Disillusionment Charm before apparating to the street in front of Hermione’s house. Apparation to an unfamiliar location can be exceedingly difficult, so I clutched the letter in my hand like a vice and stared at the address, focusing all my mental might on arriving in one piece.

Upon arrival, I shrunk Hermione’s file and tucked it away inside my cloak. “Hominem Revelio,” I whispered, and glowing figures flared to life inside the houses, but the street was thankfully empty. I proceeded up the walkway to her front door just as the sky began to glow in anticipation of dawn.

I let myself in with a quick, wandless Alohomora charm, silently closing and warding the door behind me. Moving on instinct, I crept cat-like up the stairs I found at the end of the hall. I couldn’t help but stop and admire the countless photographs of Hermione that decorated virtually every wall and surface of the home. _Such a blessing to be loved so dearly by your parents. I wonder if I could have been like her once, full of life, full of promise…_

The first door at the top of the stairs was a restroom, but the second one I opened revealed Her. The first thought that occurred to me was how very “Hermione” the room was. It was colorful and warm, but soothing. A vibrant hand-painted mural of a willow tree decorated the wall behind Hermione’s twin bed. Mismatched bookshelves lined every wall, all stuffed to bursting. She had a squashy red recliner in the corner with a messy, nearly meter-high pile of books beside it. Her desk was overloaded with parchment and textbooks, but everything was neatly stacked.

I removed the Disillusionment Charm, cast Silencio and Muffliato on the door, and knelt on the floor next to her bed. I allowed myself a moment to admire her in repose. Her hair was braided into a thick, glossy rope; I assume to keep it from annoying her in her sleep. She’d kicked the covers off in the night, so I couldn’t help but admire the expanse of skin her shorts and tank-top revealed.

Her limbs were milky-white and pale in the moonlight, impossibly smooth and slim, like graceful Birch saplings. The muscles in her thighs and calves were defined and supple, and I found myself entertaining a bizarre desire to nibble them, to taste them. Her expression was less peaceful than I expected. She clearly wasn’t sleeping well.

I whispered her name a couple times, and when she failed to stir, I reached for her shoulder and gently shook her. She startled awake silently, reaching under her pillow for her wand before her eyes were even open. When she saw it was me, she immediately relaxed but then frowned concernedly. “Is that really you, Professor? Is something wrong?” When I didn’t answer at once, she pointed her wand back at me and demanded, “What is the stir pattern for step one of your version of Invigoration Draught?!”

I responded smoothly, “2 dozen clockwise, 6 counterclockwise, pause 30 seconds, 60 clockwise or until it reaches a rolling boil.” She sighed in relief and placed her wand on the bedside table. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and stared at me anxiously, hugging her pillow to her chest. “Well,” she whispered impatiently, “what’s going on??”

Debating on how best to broach such a sensitive topic, I took her small, lovely hand in my own. Relishing the feel of her warm, peach-soft skin against my own calloused fingers, I looked into her eyes and murmured, “Hermione, I’m going to ask something of you now that may seem so terrifying as to be impossible, but I’m afraid we have no other choice.” I looked at her mournfully, overwhelmed with guilt for putting her in this position. “In war, sacrifices must be made to protect the ones we love. Our own happiness is secondary to the well-being of those we love.”

“Merlin’s beard, you’re really scaring me, Professor! Please, just tell me what’s going on?? Are you going to get yourself killed doing something noble?!” she exclaimed.

“What? No. Nothing like that. Not immediately anyway,” I smirked, much to her annoyance. “No. I’m afraid the problem is your parents, Hermione. The Dark Lord has uncovered their identities. A Death Eater will be waiting outside their office to follow them home tonight,” I told her gravely. “I’m going to need you to be brave and calm, ok? I can help you.”

“Oh, is that all?” she asked brightly. I stared at her then, mouth slightly agape. “Professor, I’ve been working on an evacuation plan for them since I agreed to become your apprentice! Honestly, you think me so naïve that it wouldn’t occur to me that my defenseless muggle parents would be in danger?” she rolled her eyes, looking at me amusedly.

She hopped out of bed, crossing to her desk and pulling a large binder out of the bottom drawer. She crooked her finger to me, beckoning me over, and I gladly obliged. I stood inappropriately close behind her as she bent over the desk and shuffled through the binder. Her aroma was intoxicating: the ever present rosemary-mint scent of her shampoo, a hint of morning breath that somehow still smelled like heaven to my hormone-addled mind.

“Aha! Here it is!” She brandished a large, non-descript muggle envelope triumphantly. “I found this amazing medical mission in Africa… It’s like a caravan that travels from village to village, providing health services to people who would normally never get a chance to see a doctor! And they’re always desperate for dentists because dental care is almost unheard-of in a lot of these remote places! It’s a very extensive and stringent process to apply, so it took almost three months before I got the acceptance letter. It was rather hard to write the essays in my parents’ voices, and sneaking around gathering all that personal information about them was NOT easy, and converting muggle post to owl post is exceedingly expensive… But I did it!” She waved the letter proudly, a radiant smile on her face. “They’re so excited to have TWO dentists coming, and for an indefinitely long period of time, that they didn’t even care when I told them that ‘we’ would need a few months to get our business affairs in order! I have my parents’ reply saying they’re on their way to Nairobi right here! They just have to stick it in the mailbox on their way to the airport!” she concluded proudly, dazzling me with her smile.

“That. Is. Fucking. Brilliant,” I told her with admiration. “Being constantly on the move and sticking to third-world countries is the most effective way to go into hiding. And you found a way for them to still work and be doing something really valuable… You’re amazing, Hermione. You never cease to astound me. Your cleverness puts me to shame, that’s for sure,” I praised her, surprising myself with how out-of-character it was.

Her face was luminous with delight from my compliments. I could see nearly every last one of her teeth as she beamed at me. I’d never seen her so beautiful, and my chest ached to look upon her agonizing brilliance.

 _How are you so bloody magnificent?! Not only are you painfully gorgeous to look at, but you’re probably the most gifted wizard born in a century! How could I ever think I’d be worthy of you?_ I mused.

She wrapped her arms around my waist in a far-too-brief hug, then darted off to the restroom to shower and dress. I occupied myself thumbing through her muggle books as I tried in vain to avoid imagining her in the shower. The thin wall separating us did little to help the cause. I could hear every splash of water, and I even heard a little gasp when she nearly slipped getting out of the tub. I willed my cock to be more respectful of the gravity of the situation, but it was futile.

By the time she returned, wet-haired and dressed in a baggy hooded sweatshirt and leggings, I was sitting in her armchair and resolutely meditating. I sensed her standing before me, so I opened my eyes, feigning nonchalance. “You’d better go wake your parents, Miss Granger. Quickly explain the situation to them and help them pack their essentials. I’d like to have them clear of the house by sunrise.” She nodded her assent and steeled herself, taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, then headed downstairs to her parents’ room.

Needing to make myself useful, I pulled out a nondescript pine box I’d treated with a powerful Non-Detectable Extension Charm. I systematically packed the wooden box by magic, levitating and stacking every last book, folder, and piece of parchment in the entire room. I then moved to her dresser and closet, carefully stowing all her clothing as well. Finally, I made an elaborate flourish with my wand, cried “Gadurona!”, and every last knick-knack in the room whirled into the box like a rather orderly tornado. When Hermione returned, her eyes and face were red and slightly swollen, but her expression was stoic. She gave an approving glance around the room then took my hand, “Let’s do this.”


	18. Chapter 18

She led me downstairs for a quick meet-and-greet with her parents, and they were so warm and gracious that it nearly brought me to tears. I helped Hermione finish magically packing the last of her parents’ important belongings as they called the airline and the cab company. The taxi arrived remarkably quickly, so I loaded the boot and respectfully tried to ignore their tearful goodbye. I kept an eye on the street, wand up my sleeve, just in case. I felt mild pangs of jealousy as she kissed and hugged her parents repeatedly, though I couldn’t tell whether I was envious of the paternal affection or her affection.

The Grangers were nearly paralyzed with grief as they climbed into the backseat, and she awkwardly hugged them once more through the door. She waved to the departing cab, and when it turned the corner, she let out a small whimper. I reached for her, enfolding her protectively in my arms. Sobbing, she buried her face in my chest. My tailored muggle blazer was almost immediately soaked in tears and snot, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I embraced her tightly, made soothing sounds in her ear, and stroked her glorious hair until she finally calmed enough to look up at me. She gave me a small, watery smile, and I cupped her cheek in my palm. “This too shall pass, Miss Granger. Your parents are alive and well thanks to you.”

A half-hour later, we were sitting in her parents’ car, dressed in their clothing. We choked down doses of Polyjuice we’d treated with the strands I had collected from their hairbrush and comb as I was packing up their toiletries. Her hands were shaking as she drove, and I gave her a bracing squeeze on the arm. As we pulled into the parking lot at her parents’ dental practice, my Hominem Revelio charm exposed a disillusioned figure skulking in the alleyway across the street. I gave a slight nod to indicate the location to Hermione, and she intelligently avoided glancing over.

We entered the office casually, our clutched wands concealed inside our sleeves. I followed Hermione through the waiting room and into the back office. We found her parents’ business partner, and sat down with her to weave our story. Excited and breathless, we told her that we had just gotten word from the VSC that our wait-listed applications had just been accepted, but they needed us to ship out to Columbia immediately.

The woman was so delighted for us that I almost felt guilty for lying to her. We told her to put our salaries toward hiring replacements, because we were hoping to receive a second assignment in South America after our year in Columbia. She bid us tearful goodbyes, hugging us repeatedly and wishing us good luck. I struggled to stay in character as Mr. Granger, but fortunately, my time with Hermione had made me far more agreeable to displays of affection.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, our tail fell into place behind us. He flew so high on his invisible broom that his disillusioned form was indistinguishable against the clouds. Hermione continued past her parents’ house, eventually pulling up in front of a ramshackle little cottage. It had apparently been foreclosed years ago, and was in such terrible shape the bank hadn’t even bothered to put it on the market. Praying the Death Eater just assumed all muggle dentists lived in hovels, Hermione and I let ourselves inside. We positioned ourselves on either side of the front door and waited with baited breath. After about ten minutes, the door loudly creaked open.

I gave her a calming expression and held up three fingers.

The assassin peeked his head inside and saw an apparently empty room.

I lowered one finger. He took a single cautious step into the room, wand preceding him.

I lowered another finger. He squinted into the darkened room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

He took another step, and now his body was directly between our own disillusioned ones.

He took one more step, and I lowered my last finger. I cried, “Petrificus Totalus!” at the exact second she shouted, “Stupefy!”

I strode impassively across the room to where the masked Death Eater had slammed into the wall, leaving a rather sizable hole in the plaster. I ripped his masque off, and Yaxley’s pock-marked, over-large head was revealed. I spat on his unconscious face and sneered. “Thank Merlin it’s this fucking imbecile. He’s the Dark Lord’s favorite muggle executioner, and his modus operandi is raping and torturing his victims for hours, then burning down the house to make it look like they simply died in an accident,” my lip curled in disgust. “Fucking animal. It’s going to make him that much easier to get rid of, though.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermione and I parked a block and a half away and watched the flames rapidly consume the old cottage. “This is the first time I’ve killed a person,” she whispered somberly, “and it probably won’t be the last, will it?”

I shook my head in commiseration and replied, “If it helps at all, look at it this way: you didn’t kill him. You only stupefied him. It’ll look like he simply passed out from carelessness in the smoky inferno and the fire consumed him,” I said with a shrug. “And you were safely hiding in the car when I lit the fire, so at worst you witnessed someone _being_ killed for the first time. And you didn’t even _really_ witness it, so I doubt you’ll even be able to see Thestrals now.”

She sighed, “That doesn’t make me feel much better. I know he was a monster and deserved to die. It just sucks that I had to do it, you know? I’ll never be the same person again…”

“I understand, Miss Granger. I’ve had that exact thought every damn day for the past 18 years. But we all have our roles to play, and this is mine.”

“Your role isn’t a killer, Professor,” she asserted passionately, “You’re so much more than that. You’re a HERO.”

“Thank you for thinking that, Hermione,” I murmured, marveling that I had managed to fool her so well.


	19. Chapter 19

We dropped off the car and the majority of her belongings in a storage unit Hermione had rented on her mother’s credit card the previous month. “Are you heading to The Burrow now?” I inquired, slamming the gate shut on the unit and locking it. She sighed and rubbed her face in an exhausted sort of way. “I don’t know. I really don’t feel like dealing with those boys and all their questions yet. And The Burrow is always so loud and crazy. I kind of need some time to process, I think. I don’t know where to go, though. My parents’ house probably isn’t safe, plus it would be really depressing there now. I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts and have to lie to McGonagall about what happened, since I can’t admit you’re the one who tipped me off…” she trailed off.

“You could go to Grimmauld Place,” I suggested. “It’s safe there. And no one to bother you...”

“It’s so lonely and creepy there now with Sirius gone. Just me and Kreacher…” she gave an involuntary shudder.

“I have no desire to be in residence at the castle at this point in time,” I replied crisply. “I could stay there too, so you wouldn’t be alone.”

She broke into a huge smile and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! That would be great, Professor! Are you sure it’s not a hassle for you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have offered if it were. Plus, we could get some actual work done instead of sitting around on our asses for the next five days.”

We side-along apparated onto the top step of Grimmauld Place, and I opened the door, ushering Hermione inside. Kreacher came limping into view and hissed, “Oh look… the Mudblood and the Greasy Nose are here. What are their filthy hides doing here, Kreacher wonders?”

I snapped, “Please stop talking, Kreacher, before I do something I’ll regret. We’re going to be staying here a few days. DO NOT BOTHER US, got it?”

Kreacher sneered but walked away without a word. “Did you really have to be so mean to him?” Hermione whispered. “Yes,” I replied curtly. She rolled her eyes but said nothing.

I carried her school trunk and the small box I’d given her upstairs to the room she usually shared with Ginny Weasley. I bade her goodbye, closing the bedroom door behind me as I left. It was around 7 pm, and I was famished from the powerful magic I’d been using all day, so I headed down to the basement kitchen. The cupboards were mostly empty, but I found some potatoes, eggs, butter, and swiss cheese that had been preserved with a stasis charm.

I charmed the potatoes to shred themselves on the ancient metal grater as I whipped the eggs with just a bit of water. I tossed the potatoes in a cast-iron pan with a bunch of olive oil, then pressed them firmly down with my hand. The cheese shredded itself as I poured half of the egg mixture into a small round skillet with a pat of butter. I gingerly scraped the egg solids towards the center of the pan, sprinkled cheese over everything, and carefully rolled up the French omelet. _Not a speck of color on the egg. Very nice._

I set aside the first omelet with a warming charm on it and started the next one. I spelled the cast-iron pan to flip the potatoes, and it caught nearly all of them. I vanished the fallen shreds with a shrug. I went to the door and yelled at the top of my voice for Miss Granger. She came scurrying down the stairs, obviously panicked something had gone wrong. When she walked into the kitchen, she laughed in delight. “This smells amazing, Master Snape! You made dinner?”

“Sit,” I replied simply, tossing her a cloth napkin from the cupboard. I rolled her omelet, sliding it deftly onto the plate. I loaded it up with a more than half of the potatoes and placed it in front of her. We spent the meal in companionable silence- except for Hermione repeatedly exclaiming how delicious the food was. I rolled my eyes, but I was enjoying the compliments too much to say anything sarcastic. Taking care of her just felt too fucking good.

She was yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open as we were drinking our post-dinner tea. When she nearly fell face forward into her cup, I said, “That’s enough of that, girl. Go on to bed now. You did great today. Tomorrow, we have more work to do.” She stretched and got to her feet, asking me, “What are we going to do here without all your equipment and ingredients?”

“Research.”

“Research on what?”

“A lot of things. But I’ll give you a query to ponder before bed… What can muggle medicine do that magic can’t?”


	20. Chapter 20

When I dragged myself into the kitchen late the next morning, Hermione was already awake, sipping coffee and reading The Daily Prophet. She indicated the pot of coffee on the stove and said, “I went to the corner store. Got a couple things. There’s bread in the cupboard if you want toast.”

I grunted in acknowledgement, poured a cup of black coffee, and flopped into a chair. She tossed me the section of newspaper that she’d already finished and went back to her reading. I was surprised to find myself rather enjoying the domesticity of the whole exchange.

After we’d finished the newspaper and my brain was suitably caffeinated, we headed across the hall to the library. We settled onto the small antique couch, and I turned to face her. “So, Miss Granger, did you consider my question from last night?”

“Yeah, I did. My first thought was that there’s actually a lot it can’t do. For instance, there’s no magical treatment for cancer. Because cancer is just your own body cells that have gone rogue, so to speak, magic is unable to identify the malignant cells. Similarly, there’s no wizarding equivalent to procedures such as liposuction or breast augmentation. There are glamours you can cast, but those are just superficial. It’s nearly impossible to alter your body in any meaningful way without seriously endangering your own life. But I think the answer you’re looking for is that muggle medicine can treat curses or poisons that are resistant to magical intervention. I assume this was inspired by those pills I gave you and the improvements I made to your potion?” she inquired, grinning proudly.

“Quite right, Miss Granger. Perceptive as always. What I’m suggesting here is nothing less than a radical readjustment to our current school of thought. Wizards are notoriously dismissive of muggle technology, deeming it little more than cavemen banging rocks together. But, as you know, the advances muggles have made in the past few centuries have thoroughly outstripped those of wizards. Magic makes us lazy- discourages innovation. With the internet, for instance, muggles have access to virtually every piece of information in their collective history. It’s the democratization of knowledge.”

She looked at me excitedly, remarking, “That’s so true! I complain all the time about how ridiculously difficult research is in the wizarding world. Could you imagine if we had an actual database of information?? How much easier our lives would be! And if the library had a single system of organization instead of a half-dozen different types accrued over the centuries? But wizards are so stuck in the past!”

“Indeed. And fortuitously for us, there is no wizard less knowledgeable about muggle technology than the Dark Lord. He couldn’t recognize a security camera or a handgun to save his life. So what we’re going to be doing here is brainstorming. What are creative solutions to our problems? What advantages can we give ourselves? Defeating the Dark Lord by brute magical force is all but impossible. He is too powerful, too illusive, too well-defended. We must work to our strengths. Be Slytherins,” I smirked at her, and she giggled but nodded her agreement.

Hermione brought down the wooden box of books from her bedroom, and I pulled out a number of medical and scientific textbooks I‘d “borrowed” from her parents’ collection. She introduced me to these fantastic devices called sticky notes, and we proceeded to spend the next 9 hours skimming every single solitary book. We marked each section that seemed useful, and by the end, our pile of helpful books was over three times as tall as our useless books.

My favorite was a series of comedic instructional manuals called The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Guides. The entry on giving an impromptu tracheotomy with plastic drinking straws I found particularly delightful. We even had a number of fictional volumes: stories about war, survival in the wilderness, science fiction, even zombie apocalypses.

Our necks were cramping and our stomachs were growling by the time we finished the daunting task. We dragged ourselves into the kitchen and quickly threw together some sandwiches. I found a bottle of wine in the cellar and brandished it triumphantly. “YES,” Hermione moaned, “that sounds fantastic.”

We took our dinner to the library and went back to work. We sat across from each other at the table, eating, sipping wine, taking notes, and discussing our findings. Hermione got sillier as we progressed through the bottle, and by the end, I was having the time of my life. She was reading passages aloud to me, and I was responding with sarcastic quips. Her giggles were like champagne, bubbly, exultant, and intoxicating. She would toss her glorious mane of hair as she laughed, making my heart leap every time. Little pink spots had appeared high on her cheeks, and her eyes glittered like diamonds.

As the hours passed, she began yawning frequently and slumping lower and lower in her chair. When I noticed that her eyes were drooping, I told her to go to bed. She clumsily rose from her seat, yawning along the way. She squeezed around my side of the table on the way to the door. I had my nose buried in a medical text, so I didn’t notice that she hadn’t continued walking.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around me from behind, sliding around my shoulders and nearly encircling my chest. I jumped at first, then immediately relaxed. I allowed my head to lean against her narrow chest, and she rested her chin on my forehead. We stayed like that for quite a while; I could feel her heartbeat racing against my scalp the whole time. Her hair fell around my face, overwhelming my senses with the intoxicating aroma of Her.

It was the first physical contact with her that didn’t cause me to become overwhelmingly aroused. Instead, I found myself supremely comforted by her presence. _She feels like home_ , I thought, relishing the experience. All of a sudden, she was tucking my hair behind my ear, and ( _OH MY GODS THIS CAN’T BE REAL!!_ ) she was kissing me on the cheek! The kiss lingered for a few seconds, but far too quickly she whispered in my ear, “Goodnight, Sir.” She was gone in a flash, and I was immobilized by shock.

My cheek burned where her lips had graced me. My ear tingled from the sensual touch of her breath. I was so painfully erect that I felt light-headed from lack of blood-flow. I entertained elaborate fantasies of running after her, sweeping her into my arms, ravishing her lips with my own. Her mouth had been so velvety, burning with heat, swollen and succulent, I couldn’t help but imagine it wrapped around my cock.

The mental image of her kneeling before me was too much to handle, and I practically ran to the little converted study off the library that I used as a bedroom when I stayed at Grimmauld Place. I fell onto the the double bed, roughly yanking my cock out. I stroked myself to completion two times in a row, imaging Hermione doing a similar activity to herself in her room upstairs. Utterly spent, I stripped off my clothes and passed out immediately.


	21. Chapter 21

I was awoken the next morning by tentative knock on the door. I gave an incoherent grunt, and the door opened. Hermione made a noise halfway between a gasp and a shriek, and spun around. I realized that I’d never made it under the covers last night, and everything was on display for her. “Sorry, Sorry!” I called out, smothering my laughter. I grabbed a throw from the foot of the bed, covering my legs and morning semi-wood. “Did you need something?” I asked with a smirk as she turned back around.

“Umm, I, uhh, brought you coffee and scones. I thought you’d probably been up late researching… So, yeah…” she stammered, face and ears burning red. She brought in the tray she’d been holding and placed it on my bedside table. I could see her subtly examining my body out of the corner of her eye. “See something you like?” I drawled sarcastically.

“Did You-Know-Who give you all those scars?” she asked, surprising me with her boldness.

“No,” I replied, “most are from my fellow Death Eaters. He likes to make us fight… and do other things to each other… when he gets bored. He doesn’t want us getting too chummy, you know. Wouldn’t want an insurrection,” I snarled.

“That’s fucking monstrous!” Hermione commiserated, anger apparent in her voice. “I can’t wait to kill him!” she growled.

I let out a harsh bark of a laugh, “That’s my girl.”

She gave me a shy smile and seemed to be having a difficult time not staring at the visible bit of skin where my hip joined my thigh. I noticed that she had brought two coffee cups, so I crooked my finger at her and patted the quilt. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. I rearranged the blanket to cover myself a little better and placed the tray on the quilt between us. I poured her a cup, then one for myself. She stirred a metric ton of sugar and cream into hers and tasted it, studiously avoiding looking at me.

Her wool skirt had ridden up her thighs, and her sweater was, distractingly, about one size too small. The air felt deliciously dense with sexual tension. I stared at her, occasionally sipping from my cup, until she made eye contact with me. I quirked one corner of my mouth and raised an eyebrow, making her blush furiously. Chuckling quietly, I leaned back against the pillows and nonchalantly stared at the ceiling. I could feel her eyes burning holes in my chest, and I relished the sensation.

_If she was disgusted by you she wouldn’t be responding like this. She can’t take her eyes off of you._

_But why? What could she ever find attractive about me? I’m absolutely revolting. It must just be horrified fascination. Like watching a train wreck. I’m so fucking delusional. How could I ever think she’d be interested in me? She’s perfection incarnate, and I’m a hideous, wicked demon of a man._

_But she kissed you last night…_

_Yeah, on the cheek. I’ve seen her do the same to bloody fucking Potter._

_Her heart races when she touches you!_

_Oh please, that’s probably just from fear._

_But she’s the one who hugs you. And you’ve never seen her hug any of her other professors, have you? And it’s not like you have a warmhearted presence that welcomes affection…_

Unable to stand it any longer, I made eye contact with her again, and she quickly looked down and picked at her scone. I was sorely tempted to legilimize her, but I just barely held out. We finished our breakfast in silence, occasionally glancing at each other warily. I shooed her out of the room so I could get dressed, and when I emerged, clad in grey pants and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, she was already at work.

As we fell into our usual rhythm, the tension from earlier melted away. Within an hour, we were our normal selves again. We studied straight through lunch time, pausing only long enough to make a few pots of tea. I was discovering a truly massive amount of information, and I spent over an hour with a fantastic Wilderness First Aid guide. I learned about tourniquets, how to perform an emergency amputation, how to slow the spread of snake venom, what innocuous-seeming plants can be deadly, how to scare away a large predator, and so much more. I was having way more fun with this project than I’d ever imagined possible. Getting to spend all day with Hermione was the cherry on top of the sundae.

Around 8 o’clock my hunger pangs became too much to ignore, so I went to the kitchen and told Hermione to follow me in about 30 minutes. When she walked in, exclaiming how delicious it smelled, I was just plating her food. Her face was orgasmic as she took her first bite of pasta carbonara. “Professor, I’ve never tasted anything like this before! This is seriously the best carbonara I’ve ever had! How did you get to be such an amazing cook?” she asked.

I shrugged and responded, “I’ve been cooking for myself since I was six years old. My father would disappear for weeks at a time, and my mother would fall into these catatonic sort of episodes. It didn’t seem to occur to her that her child needed to eat, so I had to learn to provide for myself pretty quickly. I would always debate with myself whether it was worse when he was around, beating the shit out of my mother and me, or when he was gone, since my mother wouldn’t leave her bed for days at a time…”

Hermione’s eyes were filled with tears, but she sniffed and held them back. “That’s so awful. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered somberly.

I scoffed halfheartedly. “That’s all in the past now. It has no bearing on me today.”

She shook her head slightly, but said nothing. She did reach out and give my hand a brief squeeze, however, sending pleasurable shivers down my spine.

She firmly insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, so I returned to the library. She joined me after a span and suggested that we move to the couch to be a little more comfortable. Sitting with her in front of the roaring fireplace, reading and sipping herbal tea, was truly a picture-perfect moment. I wanted nothing more than to stay there for the rest of my life, hiding from the world with her. She shifted around a couple times as the hours passed, progressively moving closer and closer to me. By the time midnight rolled around, she was mere centimeters away. Then, impossibly, she laid her head on my shoulder and leaned against my side. I turned slightly towards her, and she settled into the crook of my shoulder, holding her book over my lap.

Cautiously, pulse pounding in my throat, I wrapped my left arm around her waist, holding her against me. She made a little sigh of contentment that melted me. I was filled with such exquisite, devastating joy that I felt my heart might burst from the sensation. I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I blinked furiously to keep them from falling. That was the first moment I realized my obsession with Hermione wasn’t just simple lust; I was falling for her- hook, line, and sinker.

Before too long, I noticed a change in her breathing. After whispering her name a few times, I realized she was asleep. Unwilling to disturb her, I just kept reading. She gradually slipped down my chest until she was spread out across the couch, head resting gently in my lap. Her hair fanned out across my legs and stomach, and I couldn’t stop burying my fingers in it.

She was so peaceful in repose; I couldn’t help but stare. I was utterly enchanted. Eventually, many hours later, I drifted off to sleep as well. We spent the entire night there- me sprawled out with one leg on the couch and one on the coffee table, Hermione practically lying on top of me, wrapped up tightly in my arms. It was deepest sleep I’d had in years.


	22. Chapter 22

I awoke early the next morning and laid there for a long time, simply relishing the moment. She was impossibly light and delicate, feeling like little more than a housecat lying atop my chest. One of her legs was thrown over my own, and her arms were wrapped around my waist. I’d never in my life wanted anything more than to stay there, just like that, forever. Eventually, an idea occurred to me, and I reluctantly slid out from under Hermione. She stirred and looked up at me sleepily as I placed a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket from my room. “Shh,” I whispered, “Go back to sleep. I’m running out for a few hours. I’ll be back soon.” She made my heart skip a beat with a sleepy little smile, then closed her eyes.

I waited for her breathing to slow and deepen before I dressed in my most nondescript black wizard robes and left the house. I disappeared from the top step, arriving at the designated apparation room in the Leaky Cauldron. I entered Diagon Alley, hoping the early hour and post-Christmas shopping lull would keep anyone from recognizing me. I surreptitiously entered Madame Malkin’s, a bell announcing my arrival. She emerged from the back room sipping an enormous mug of coffee and glowering at me imperiously over her round spectacles.

“What can I do for you this morning, sir?” she asked, somewhat brusquely. I explained what I was looking for, and she nodded thoughtfully. “I believe I have just the thing. Give me one second…” Within five minutes, I was closely examining the four sets of robes she’d brought out. She had enchanted them for display, so they twirled and danced as if they were filled with invisible people. I pondered my decision for a while, but the choice was obvious. Naturally, the most expensive one was far and away the best. It was over 60 galleons, but Hermione was worth every last knut.

Scoffing at my own sentimentality, I stopped in the pet store to buy a new bed and bag of cat treats for her beast. She had mentioned multiple times how much she missed Crookshanks, and wished she hadn’t left him at Hogwarts under the care of the house elves for the holiday. I grabbed a self-inking quill and roll of gift wrap from the stationary store. I entered the sweet shop for the first time in my life, feeling supremely uncomfortable. I hastily filled a colorful gift bag with chocolate truffles, delicate candy flowers, and multiple flavors of fancy cauldron cakes, then retreated from the store before anyone could recognize me. Finally, I stopped by the market and gathered all the ingredients for the dinner I had planned.

When I arrived back at Grimmauld Place, I was gratified to see she was still sleeping. I placed the Ever-Hot Latte and assorted danishes I’d brought on a silver tea tray atop the coffee table. Then I snuck into my room with my purchases, closing the door quietly behind me. Deciding it was more thoughtful, I wrapped the gifts by hand, only using magic to cut and adhere the paper. My brain had been blessedly free of recriminations and doubts all morning, and I found myself feeling bizarrely optimistic. I nearly whistled a tune as I piled her gifts in the corner and disillusioned them.

She was awake and enjoying her breakfast when I exited my bedroom. She honored me with a lovely shy smile. I sat in the armchair across from the couch, placing my own latte and a cheese danish on the table beside me. I tossed half of The Daily Prophet to her. We hid behind our respective papers for the next hour, but we’d occasionally catch each other’s eye on accident.

The short time she was gone, showering and dressing for the day, was nearly unbearable for me. I couldn’t concentrate on anything and simply paced the library, waiting for her to return. I fantasized about sneaking in the bathroom while she showered, peeking behind the curtain as she rinsed her hair, taking off my robes and slipping into the shower with her, she’d startle at first, but then her eyes would darken with lust, she’d fall into my arms, hot and wet and slippery… _OH GODS STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!_

I was supremely relieved when she returned and we got to work. _Thank Merlin for the sanctuary of research! It’s the only damn thing that can distract me from obsessing about her. And I’m still glancing up at her every few minutes, admiring the little crease of concentration between her thick, elegant brows, watching her eyelashes flutter as she scans the page, staring at her lips, red and swollen from her constantly chewing on them in concentration._ That glorious hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head which she’d secured with two pens. It was slowly, distractingly, coming loose. Large ringlets cascaded down her elegant throat and slim shoulders. One piece kept getting stuck on her lip, and she’d blow it out of her face irritably.

We spent the next five hours in that fashion: Hermione working diligently, myself less so. We found yet more potentially valuable information, and we were each working on filling our third 100-page spiral notebook. I had to admit to her that muggle paper was definitely far superior to parchment, and ball-point pens were much smoother to write with than sharp quills.

Eventually, I told her I was going to prepare dinner, and that I’d call her when it was done. She nodded distractedly, absorbed in a memoir written by an Emergency Medical Technician who had heroically treated victims during an active terrorist attack.

I pulled the guinea hens I’d been marinating all day out of the enchanted icebox and massaged them inside and out with a compound butter I had made with white wine, fresh rosemary, fresh thyme, garlic, and kosher salt. I trussed them, settled them onto a roasting rack, and slid them into the oven. My carrots had finished peeling themselves, so I tossed them with balsamic vinegar, honey, and olive oil and spread them out on a cookie sheet. I seasoned them and threw them in the oven as well. I set the potatoes to diligently peel themselves while I ripped the stems from leaves of kale and spinach. I chopped the perfectly cleaned potatoes, tossing them in a pot of salted boiling water. I sautéed the kale in compound butter, adding the spinach much later. I drained the fully cooked potatoes and enchanted a mixer to whip them as I poured in cream and added butter, a ton of roasted garlic, salt, and pepper. I poured the rest of the cream into the spinach and kale along with a bit of milk, grated in some nutmeg and added pinches of salt and sugar.

I pulled the perfectly roasted birds and carrots out of the oven and called for Hermione. I placed the guineas in the the center of our plates, ladling some of the pan drippings over them. I artfully surrounded the hens with fluffy piles of whipped potatoes, creamy greens, and sweet, succulent carrots. I sprinkled everything with roughly chopped parsley and was opening a bottle of Prosecco when she entered the kitchen. She had changed into a tight red sweater dress which she wore bare-legged with a pair of high-heel ankle boots. Her hair had been done in an elegant French braid, and she wore subtle eyeliner and lip gloss.

She smiled at me shyly, quickly looking away. Then her eyes took in the spread I’d put out, and she gasped in delight. “This is incredible!” she exclaimed, “This seriously looks like something from a gourmet restaurant! Better even!” My chest was suffused with warmth and pride, but I just shrugged nonchalantly at her compliments. We ate our dinner with lively conversation, laughing and discussing our findings excitedly. We quickly moved onto a second bottle of Prosecco, and Hermione inhaled seconds of all the sides.

She insisted on cleaning the kitchen while I relaxed in a chair by the fire, sipping my sparkling wine contentedly. I watched her flit about the kitchen, every movement perfectly graceful despite her tipsiness. The front of my trousers became uncomfortably tight when she bent over to pick up a fork she dropped on the floor, exposing a succulent portion of her upper thighs. I tried to meditate, schooling my mind to imagine anything else besides what she was wearing under that tight dress. She was done far too soon for my liking, and we proceeded upstairs.

I told her to sit on the couch and cover her eyes. Amazingly, she complied immediately without even a single question. I levitated the pile of gifts onto the coffee table and told her to open her eyes. I removed the charm and they popped into sight, startling a delighted gasp from her. “Are these for me?” she asked, eyes shining.

I scoffed, “Silly girl. Who else would they be for?”

I stood off to the side with my arms crossed, casually looking away, feigning indifference.

She grabbed the top one from the pile and examined it, “Did you wrap these yourself? Master Snape…” She flushed with bashful pleasure.

She opened the box from the pet store first, gasped, then laughed gaily. “You got presents for Crookshanks?? You are just the sweetest thing…” she gushed. She moved on to the gift bag of candy, immediately shoving a dark chocolate-raspberry truffle in her mouth and offering one to me, despite the fact that we’d just eaten three meals worth of food in one sitting. She was thrilled about her self-inking quill, exclaiming that it was the next-best thing to being able to write with a pen like a civilized person. I chuckled at her comment then turned to watch her open the big gift.

She hummed in curiosity when she saw the Madame Malkin’s seal on the sturdy white box. She unwrapped the robes from their golden tissue paper, pulling them out with a flourish. There was a sharp intake of breath as the firelight caught the finely-constructed black garment. She ran her fingers over the enchanted fabric, marveling that it was soft and thick like suede, but light as gossamer. Excitedly, she pulled it over her shoulders and buttoned the intricate frog closures. The sleeves and hem automatically adjusted to the perfect length for her body. She unfastened it and searched the countless pockets that had been sewn into the lining. Some were shallow and cushioned, perfect for tiny, delicate items. She buried her arm up the shoulder in others. She grabbed an enormous tome off the bookshelf and dropped it into one of the largest pockets. It immediately disappeared, and she laughed in surprised delight, “I can’t feel the weight at all! This is INCREDIBLE!!!”

She ran across the room and leapt into my arms, throwing her hands over my shoulders. I lifted her up, clasping her tightly to me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life! I can’t image how much this cost! How much all this cost! I can’t believe you did this for me… You are so amazing and so thoughtful, Sir. The incredible dinner, and all the expensive gifts… You are so good to me… Always so good to me…” she gushed. Her legs were wrapped around my hips, and her face was pressed to my neck. I could feel her lips against my skin as she spoke, sending shivers down my spine with each word. After a while my arms started to get sore, so I let her slip back down to the floor.

She refused to let go of me, though, nuzzling my chest and snaking her arms around my waist inside my robes. I smoothed back her flyaway curls, relishing their soft delicacy. My mind was a fog, utterly obscured by fierce joy and all-consuming desire. I wanted her soft hands under my shirt, against my skin, so badly I ached for it. As if hearing my thoughts, she slowly, tentatively, lifted up the back of my shirt, and placed one tiny, perfect palm against my spine. I let out an involuntary groan, and the second hand joined the first. The sensation of her baby-soft skin on my own rough, scarred hide was intoxicating. Heat spread from our point of contact, making me feel flushed and dizzy.

My cock throbbed with each irregular beat of my heart. I finally let my hands wander from their place of relative safety on her shoulders. I placed the right on her lower back, pulling her yet tighter against my rock-hard erection. She wiggled deliciously against me, making soft whimpering noises. With my left hand I gripped the side of her hip, wrapping my fingers around her narrow waist. Through the skin-tight material of her dress, I could feel her sharp hipbone under my thumb, and the top seam of her knickers against my little finger.

Our breathing was heavy and ragged, and I could feel both of our hearts pounding as we pressed against each other. “Why did you do all this, Sir?” she whispered, nearly inaudible.

“Because it’s Christmas holiday and I wanted to,” I responded, my voice rough with passion.

“I feel bad I didn’t get you…” she began. “Hush,” I murmured sensually, “you’ve given me so much more than you could ever imagine, Hermione.”

She looked up at me then, and her cheeks and lips were deliciously pink. “Severus…” she whispered, slowly, cautiously, questioningly.

My throat tightened with emotion at the sound of my name, and my right hand reached for her face of its own accord. The gold flecks in her eyes glimmered in the firelight; her flawless, freckled skin seemed to glow from within. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes kept flickering to my own parted lips. I stroked her cheek ever-so-lightly with my palm, then held her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her entire body quivered, and her breaths came out gasping and uneven. I looked deeply and intently into her eyes, searching for doubt, for fear, for anything but the dark lust I knew clouded my own.

As if in a trance, I touched my thumb, gingerly, to her plump lower lip. It was deliciously warm, velvety, wet… her lips pursed, kissing the pad of my thumb… oh merlin, oh gods… then she was taking my thumb between her lips, so hot, so wet, and all of a sudden it was in her mouth, she was sucking on it gently, her hooded eyes staring sensually into my own. Her tongue swirled around my finger tip, my cock throbbed with pleasure as if it were the one feeling her ministrations… A loud groan burst from my mouth, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to not sweep her up in my arms, carry her into my bedroom, and ravish her to within an inch of her life.

I removed my finger from her delicious attentions and gripped her firmly by the back of the neck. My other hand had wandered of its own accord and was now resting on her tight ass… I could feel the seams of her underwear…. I imagined yanking them down her thighs, kneeling before her, lifting that sexy fucking dress, burying my face in her delicious little cunt, bringing her to orgasm over and over and over again until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion…

Her eyes hadn’t left my own intense gaze. Our faces moved closer, closer, closer… I loomed over her, she was stretched up on tip-toes, I could feel her hot breath on my lips, my hair fell into her face…

We were so close now that I couldn’t make out any of her features. My hand firmly massaged the base of her neck. Her nails were digging aggressively into my back. I squeezed her delicious little ass, and I could feel the vibration of her quiet moan on my own lips. “Hermione…” I groaned desperately…

Then, a searing fire roared to life in my left arm, and I fell away from her with a screamed string of filthy curses. I bellowed in frustration, punched the wall, and stormed into my room. Hermione followed me, concern written all over her face. I threw my Death Eater robes over my button-down shirt and trousers and secured the masque to my face. She took a small involuntary step backwards when I turned around to face her. She said nothing, but followed me all the way to the front door. I started to turn the knob but she grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her. “Please be careful!” she whispered as she wrapped me in a quick, panicky hug. Tears were beginning to stream from her eyes as I grunted my acknowledgment, opened the door, and apparated away.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Do not read this chapter if you have issues with sexual violence!

As I swept into Malfoy Manor, I frantically pulled up my Occlumency shields. I knew they’d be weakened from the wine and my heightened state of arousal. It was New Years’ Eve, so I berated myself for not expecting the Dark Lord to call a revel. _Of course the Death Eaters would want to “party” tonight_ , I scoffed. I was one of the last to arrive and knelt in my designated spot in the inner circle. _His followers certainly have swelled_ , I observed, counting over a dozen new bodies in the second and third circles.

He reclined in the center of the gradiose ballroom, ensconced in a Baroque armchair that had probably cost more than my entire house. His legs were propped up on the back of one of the four muggles who cowered in the fetal position before him. Two of them were teenage girls, a few years younger than Hermione. A beautiful, delicate little boy of about twelve was trembling in the arms of a gorgeous, darkly-exotic young woman. Sick with dread, I focused on my white room, allowing its serenity and light to suffuse my thoughts.

After we had all arrived, the Dark Lord raised his hand for silence and began to speak. I was keeping my thoughts carefully contained, so I only caught bits and pieces of what he said. It was a rather long speech, obviously meant to be inspiring to us. Cheers and hoots of approval rang out from the crowd with regularity. He began to call individuals to step forward and remove their masques, announcing their names, and alternately berating them for their failures or praising their successes. He finished by announcing Yaxley’s full name, indicating the empty spot in the circle that had belonged to him.

“Let the absence of our friend Mister Yaxley be a warning to you all. He failed in a task I assigned him, due entirely to his own ignorance and carelessness. He is dead now. There wasn’t even enough left of him to send to his children,” he sneered, eliciting jeers from the audience. _Interesting…_ I thought to myself, h _e’s making it sound like HE killed him, not that he died from his own error. I wonder how many other Death Eaters he’s claimed to have murdered in cold blood actually just got themselves killed with their own stupidity. I guess killing off your followers willy-nilly wouldn’t be a very effective long-term strategy for world domination, after all._ Suddenly, He clapped his hands, silencing the group’s speculative whispers.

He indicated that the favored Death Eaters who had stepped forward should kick off the festivities by enforcing his displeasure on the others. The muggles screamed in fright as dozens of spells shot over their heads, giving the Dark Lord’s throne a wide margin. The embattled Death Eaters collapsed, some screaming in Cruciatus agony; others bound with ropes that were slowly choking the breath out them; some were silent with terrified expressions, clearly hallucinating horrifying scenarios; a few had faces so swollen from stinging jinxes that they were unrecognizable; one woman had been transfigured into some sort of giant, oozing slug; a man was rolling around and clawing at his skin frantically, screaming “Get it out! Get it out!”. This continued for an interminably long period of time. Eventually, the Dark Lord proclaimed that anyone else could join the fun now, so the outer circles surged forward, hungry with bloodlust.

I surrounded myself with a wandless Ebublio Jinx, dispassionately watching the mayhem. A number of the other original Death Eaters had similar body language to my own, and I imagined their expressions, sneering with disdain at the newcomers, so eager to prove themselves. Hours later, every disfavored Death Eater had finally, blessedly, fallen unconscious. The game over, everyone fell back into line, feigning a return to law and order. But the air was thick with the scent of fear- blood, piss, and shit. Tension, lust, and barely-restrained violence simmered in the atmosphere. Masques were now fixing on the muggles, all of whom were unmoving, unblinking, paralyzed with fear.

The Dark Lord gave another lengthy, florid speech about the superiority of wizarding kind, the filthiness of Mudbloods, the inevitability of the strong consuming the weak, how much more powerful He was than any other wizard who had ever lived, how we would all be worshipped as gods… the usual tripe. He finished his monologue to thunderous cheers and chanting that shook the floors and made the enormous crystal chandelier sway ominously.

He named his officers, and they stepped forward for the “honors”. They stripped the clothes from the muggles by hand, laughing and taunting them the entire time. Bile welled up in my throat, and I swallowed repeatedly to keep from vomiting. The muggles held each other for comfort, weeping and begging for mercy. Bellatrix grabbed the boy, ripped off her masque, and attacked his mouth with her own, violating him aggressively with her tongue. Her husband forced the little blonde girl to her knees before him and yanked out his veiny, crooked dick. He smacked her in the face with it a few times before grabbing the back of her head and ramming it down her throat. She struggled and gagged while he mercilessly pounded her face. When she fell over, he straddled her head and continued fucking her mouth. Malfoy demurred from his task, indicating his wife’s presence in the circle. The Dark Lord sneered but nodded his consent.

Amycus Carrow stepped forward to take Malfoy’s place, gleefully ripping his robes from his colossal, lumpen body. He pushed the little red-headed girl to the ground, then flopped his enormous bulk on top of her. She struggled beneath his mass as he reached between them and shoved his little dick into her, having to lift his enormous stomach out of the way to do so. I cringed in disgust, and felt my balls trying to retract into my body.

Thorfinn Rowle approached the young woman slowly, stroking a strand of ebony hair out of her face in a skillful imitation of affection. He bent forward to whisper in her ear, and I knew he was telling her that if she cooperated and did everything he asked that he would spare her son. She nodded enthusiastically, desperately. He told her that she had to make him believe she wanted it, or the deal would be off. She grabbed at the front of his robes, practically ripping them open. She pulled out his enormous, angry-red member and gave him a look of shock. “Oh my god it’s so huge!” I could hear her crooning, flattering him, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with such an enormous cock! It’s so much bigger than my husband’s! I’m afraid it’ll rip me apart!” And she licked it from base to tip, staring up at his masked face lasciviously. She took his balls in one hand, massaging them expertly, as the other stroked him. She took as much in her mouth as she could, frenziedly trying to make him cum. Her burst in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, gagging slightly. To her obvious displeasure, his member remained swollen and ready. He’d apparently taken a performance enhancement potion. Frantic, she turned around on all fours and stuck her ass in the air, begging him to please fuck her with his giant dick. Jeers rose from the audience, and I could see dozens of Death Eaters beating off under their robes.

Rodolphus Lestrange had already come once, so he was furiously masturbating while watching his wife with the boy, trying to get it back up. Bellatrix was stroking the little boy’s penis now, and he looked horrified at his body’s response to her. Rodolphus finally achieved an erection and rolled the little girl onto her stomach. He pulled her hips up, plunging violently into her from behind. He alternated between her two openings, laughing and watching his wife as she straddled and raped the boy.

The boy’s mother had her eyes closed- too busy screaming in feigned pleasure to see what was happening to him. Rowle pulled out as he was coming, and shoved it in her ass, filling it with his seed. He pulled out and laughed triumphantly, spreading his jizz all over her crack with the head of his cock. He then plunged back into her ass, and she screamed, “Yes! More! More! Fuck me in the ass like a dirty whore!”

This went on for what felt like days, the four of them passing around the muggles like playthings. The woman’s spirit had been broken when she’d seen what had happened to her son. She was catatonic, staring blankly into space as she was tossed around like a rag doll. Eventually, the officers tired themselves out and threw the muggles to the rest of the wolves. The mass of Death Eaters fell into chaos, some shoving forward for their turn assaulting the muggles. Others started fucking each other, forming huge, undulating piles of flesh on the ground. The various orgies blended and merged with each other in a way that would have been mathematically interesting if it weren’t utterly revolting.

Fights broke out around the room as sexual and violent passions ignited. Soon the ballroom stank of sweat and semen and piss, so I took my leave, following Lucius and his wife into the sitting room. I had spent years meticulously cultivating a reputation for performance-anxiety-related impotence, so I got jeers and catcalls as I left the room. I smiled under my masque, reveling in their ridicule. _Mockery from those animals is as good as praise from Hermione, if you ask me._ I took off my masque and proceeded to get mind-meltingly drunk with Lucius, and we stole a moment to have a whispered chat in the corner. By now music was blaring from every room, wizards who had left the orgy were having loud, drunken conversations with each other, and a few rather violent games had broken out, so we were able to have near-total privacy.

“So I assume you were successful then, Severus?” Lucius hissed under his breath. “Quite,” I responded, giving a bloodthirsty leer. He laughed heartily and gave me a light punch on the shoulder. “That’s the Severus I know and love.”

“So I notice Draco isn’t at the revel tonight.”

“Yes, I sent him to his aunt and uncle’s house in Sweden for the rest of the holiday. I didn’t want his impressionable young mind being exposed to this rabble…” he indicated the party raging around us, “I’d hate for him to become a wife-beating little pervert rapist like the rest of this human garbage,” he spat venomously.

I nodded my agreement, “Indeed. I hope we can get this entire situation taken care of sooner, rather than later,” I muttered, glancing at him meaningfully.

He understood my insinuation and nodded exhaustedly. “I never thought I’d say this, but all I want is a fucking quiet life, Severus. I don’t want power or money any more. I have plenty of both. I just want my family to not be fucked up beyond all recognition by the end of this goddamn war,” he sighed.

We toasted our partnership, then chugged our full tumblers of quite expensive scotch. He refilled our glasses, and we drank and drank until, blessedly, we passed out. I was able to pass the rest of the revel in this manner, waking long enough to drink my way back into blissful unconsciousness.

By the time the Dark Lord allowed us to leave, nearly a day and a half had passed. The morning sun seared my eyes excruciatingly when I left the manor and apparated onto the step of Grimmauld Place. I took a few steps into the dark hallway, tripped over something, and nearly fell flat on my face. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see that Hermione had dragged a mattress into the front hallway. She awoke when I stumbled over her, and leapt to her feet.

She burst into tears, cradling my face in her hands. “Oh Professor, what have they done to you?! You look absolutely frightful!” I glanced at the entryway mirror, taking in my pallid skin and sunken features. The circles under my eyes were so dark I looked as if I’d been pummeled in the face. My hair was a total oil slick and stuck up bizarrely where I’d been lying against the arm of the couch. I looked like I hadn’t eaten in weeks, and I had this distinct haunted grimace about the mouth.

I just shook my head dazedly and tried to push past her. “Stop that right now!” she snapped, and I froze. “I’m not going to have any of that. Are you physically hurt?” she asked briskly. I shook my head. “So it’s just psychological trauma,” she sighed, looking at me somberly. “Come on then, you need a shower. You stink like a corpse.”

She walked behind me with her hands on my shoulders and steered me into the upstairs bathroom. I stood there, staring blankly at the wall, as she unfastened my Death Eater robes and tossed them unceremoniously in the corner by the toilet. After hesitating a split second, she unbuttoned my shirt too. That she tossed in a different corner, along with my shoes, socks, and trousers which she removed after forcing me into a sitting position on the edge of the tub. Being sleep-deprived, wasted, severely dehydrated, undernourished, and generally shell-shocked, I only distantly took notice of her activities. I didn’t even get hard as she undressed me; my body was too traumatized by sexual violence to even consider such a thing.

She turned the shower on and waited for it to get hot. She seemed to debate with herself for a long time, then opted to simply push me into the shower with my underwear still on. She closed the curtain and commanded me to take them off. After a moment of processing, I tossed them over the curtain and into the pile with the rest of the clothing. “Now clean yourself,” she commanded, and I followed her instructions, feeling bizarrely relieved that I had someone to tell me what to do.

She disappeared for a while, taking my clothes with her. When she returned, she was bearing a clean Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt and my softest pair of pajama pants. She passed a clean towel to me around the curtain, carefully looking away, then passed me my clothes when I handed it back to her. I cleaned my teeth and combed my hair as she looked on like a fretful mother hen. Once I was properly washed and clothed, she took me by the hand and led me back downstairs. She took me into my room and tucked me into bed like a child. She left and returned a few minutes later with three large glasses of ice water, a bag of crisps, and a sandwich she’d made with leftover guinea hen from our dinner two nights before.

I gulped down a glass and a half of water immediately, then jammed the food down my gullet like a starving man. I hadn’t felt the least bit hungry before, but as soon as the food was in front of me I inhaled it. I finished the rest of the water and laid back on the pillows, staring broodingly into space.

She rifled through my bag, something that would ordinarily have made me apoplectic, but I simply watched her numbly. She emerged with a piece and my jar of ganja. She placed them on my lap, and I began to pack a bowl on sheer force of habit. I took a large hit of the skunky pure Indica, and immediately felt my shoulder muscles begin to loosen. I passed it to her and she took a hit as I lit it for her with my wandtip. She coughed loudly as she exhaled, drawing the tiniest twitch of a smile from the corner of my mouth. As we smoked the rest of the bowl together, I gradually began to feel almost human again. I yawned loudly and stretched, and she got up to leave.

I grabbed her by the hand without thinking, whispering desperately, “Don’t leave me. Please.” I looked at her then with eyes so full of misery and child-like neglect that she immediately hugged my face to her bosom. “It’s ok, it’s ok, I won’t leave,” she soothed me. She climbed under the covers and pulled me to her. I settled my head contentedly on her narrow chest, and she hummed a comforting melody to me, stroking my face and damp hair in a motherly sort of way.

I held off slumber as long as I could, trying to absorb this moment in all its sorrowful beauty. After a few minutes, I finally drifted off and slept dreamlessly, safe in her arms.


	24. Chapter 24

I awoke in the late evening to find that Hermione had left me. A tray on my bedside table held a bowl of chicken soup with a heat charm placed on it, three crusty sourdough rolls, and, adorably, a packet of chocolate biscuits. I carried my tray into the library to find her hunched over the table. Every square inch was covered with books, sketches, notes, graphs, and wadded up trash: crisp packets, cauldron cake wrappers, scraps of paper, a surprisingly large volume of tissues. She looked up at me, smiling timidly, and I raised an eyebrow with a pointed look at the mess. She laughed and rolled her eyes, grabbing a couple books and notepads and dropping them on the ground.

I placed my tray in the little spot she’d cleared for me and began to eat. I bolted this food down as quickly as my last meal, wondering where I’d suddenly gotten such an appetite from. Going days without eating was business as usual for me. That’s why my body had dwindled down to its current emaciated state, nothing left but bones and wiry muscle. _Thank Merlin I’m freakishly tall, or else I wouldn’t even be able to intimidate a first-year._

Hermione didn’t make me talk, just grinned at me and went back to her research. I simply watched her in her most natural element, ink all over her hands, hair flying everywhere, forehead creased in concentration. She knew I was staring, but seemed unbothered by it. She would occasionally glance up at me and give me a tiny smile, then go back to her book. I finished the meal with my biscuits, dipping them in the little glass of milk she’d thoughtfully provided. She studiously avoided looking at the fearsome potions master eating cookies and milk, endearingly attempting to preserve my dignity.

I spelled the tray to float away to the kitchen, then stood and stretched. I took a book off of my pile (much larger than hers now) and settled onto the far side of the couch. I cleared my throat and looked up at her. She blushed, grabbing one of her tomes and nearly scampering over to me. She laid down on her side, resting her head gently on my lap. Her hair was everywhere, covering my legs and stomach with its incredible mass. I buried my hand in it, unthinkingly, and she beamed while staring carefully at her book. Her hair somehow felt both fluffy and coarse at the same time. It was incredibly dense, like night-and-day compared to my own thin, fine hair. She obviously conditioned it religiously, because it was astoundingly soft. I gently massaged her scalp, and her eyes closed in pleasure.

We both tried to read, but there was a distinct lag in our usual fast-and-furious pace of page flipping. I had moved to gently squeezing her neck right at the base of her skull. She would occasionally make distracting little noises of enjoyment- sighs and quiet groans. I moved down to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, thumbing the thick pad of muscle. She let out a distinct moan, and her eyes closed.

I continued to massage her for a few seconds, but then she suddenly rolled over onto her back. She looked up at me searchingly, with concern and something else darker in her eyes. I stared back at her, keeping my face impassive.

After a minute, she sat up and turned her entire body to face me, folding her legs underneath her. The added height made her see nearly eye-to-eye with me. “What happened to you?” she asked, eliciting an aggrieved sigh from me. I glared at her, furious that she would ruin our perfect silence. “You don’t want to know, little girl.”

“I do want to know! I need to know! I need to know what you go through!” she asserted passionately.

“You can’t handle it, girl. It would break you,” I snarled.

She looked terrified, and after a long pause asked shakily, “What do you do, Sir? What do you not want me to know?” Her lip quivered, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

I flew into a rage, screaming at her at the top of my lungs, “I don’t do anything more than I have to! Yes, I do monstrous fucking shit all the goddamn time! Is that what you want to hear, Miss Granger? That I’m a **demon**? That I’m going around molesting other teenage girls? That I’m a **rapist**??” I hissed the last word with exaggerated menace.

She shook her head frantically, tears now streaming silently down her cheeks.

“I’ve never raped ANYONE, got it, little girl? There are ways around these things. Potions, memory charms, public humiliation. So you can get that out of your pretty little head,” I hissed with sudden dangerous calm, “But I am not a **good** **man**. Don’t fucking fool yourself. I’ve done worse things than you could ever dream up in your foulest nightmares. I’ve been responsible for the suffering of hundreds of people. Do you realize I make poisons for BOTH sides of the war? I’m loathsome in the truest sense of the word.”

She reached out for my hand, gripping it tightly it between her much smaller ones. Tears were still flowing freely from her eyes, but she refused to sob aloud. “I want to understand. I know you’re not a ‘good man’, but who is, really? Even Dumbledore has put all our lives in danger a hundred times! I just think that you’re terribly brave, and I know the things you’re forced to do hurt you! You don’t enjoy causing pain…”

I laughed then, loudly and maniacally, “That’s exactly my point, you insipid little brat! I **do** enjoy causing pain! I’m fucked in the head! You can’t handle any of this!” I gestured around wildly. My rapid heartbeat thrummed in my ringing ears. My hands were shaking from all the adrenaline racing through my system.

Suddenly, her wand was in hand and she whispered, “Legilimens…” I was completely caught off guard, so she immediately barreled through my meager defenses. She was flipping through me like a book, yanking dozens of memories from the darkest corners. Flashes of movement flew past her, bodies in the throes of agony and ecstasy. When she’d bring up particularly disturbing images of torture, I’d hurriedly fog them over. Occasionally, I’d let her watch longer passages: dosing a young girl with a nightmarish hallucinogenic potion so that she’d scream and cry, making the Death Eaters outside the door believe I was violating her; casting Avada Kedavra to put Death Eaters’ muggle playthings out of their misery; “accidentally” sending curses wide during battles, killing and maiming my compatriots.

Then, horribly, she arrived at the memories of the previous two days. They were fuzzy and indistinct, blurred by all the drugs and alcohol. But she saw more than enough. Though I covered them frantically, she watched Rowle blackmailing the woman, Carrow’s revolting assault, the Lestranges’ demented sex games. She saw the roiling hordes of bodies, fighting and fucking like rats in a too-small cage.

I felt her retreat slightly, obviously overwhelmed with everything she’d seen. I started to shove her out of my mind, but she reacted immediately. She leapt slightly farther back in time, diving into the minutes before my Dark Mark burned. I struggled frantically, trying to build a fog over my emotions, but there it was: burning bright like a torch in the night. She felt my elation, my fierce joy. My all-consuming desire to have her, to possess her. My insatiable lust. My powerful self-loathing. My fear of hurting her, of scaring her, of making her do something she didn’t want to do.

I let out an almighty bellow, shoving her violently out of my head. She stared at me, eyes wild and unreadable, and began to reach for me. Her hands cupped my cheeks, she leaned forward…

I shoved her hands away from my face. I flew off the couch, spewing forth an incoherent string of expletives.

“ **Who the fuck do you think you are?! You don’t just invade someone’s mind, Miss Granger!** ” I slammed my hand down on the mantle, knocking picture frames and knick-knacks to the ground.

She got a furious, self-righteous look on her face and screamed, “Yeah, you’re one to talk! You love nothing more than rifling through MY most embarrassing moments for your own amusement!”

I let out another incoherent noise of rage, grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey off the bar cart, stormed into my room, and slammed the door behind me. I spent the next few hours drinking and smoking, utterly ensconced in a cloud of self-recrimination. _You’re a fucking monster. How could you ever think she’d be attracted to you? She was obviously terrified of you the whole time, but you were so caught up in your fantasies that you refused to see the truth. You’ve traumatized and practically sexually assaulted your **student**. A **child** that you’re supposed to be responsible for. That you’re supposed to protect. THAT YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO FUCK, YOU BLOODY STUPID IDIOT!! It doesn’t matter that she’s old enough to legally consent! You’re in a position of power over her! She’s just too scared to push you away!_

Around 3 AM I couldn’t stand it anymore and left my room. I’d finished nearly the entire bottle and had to piss like a racehorse. I used the bathroom and headed back through the library to my room to continue getting fucked up. But then I noticed, through the gloom, the little shape on the couch. She was sitting in the far corner, curled up in a tiny ball, wrapped in the cloak I’d given her. I edged closer and could see that her face and eyes were terribly swollen from hours of crying. As if she could feel my gaze weighing on her, she stirred and opened her eyes slowly. She startled when she noticed my silhouette in the darkened room, but then relaxed when she realized it was me.

She looked at me beseechingly, and my heart melted in an instant. I went to her, sweeping her up in my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck, settling her head against my shoulder. I carried her into the other room and lowered her gently onto my bed. She gratefully burrowed under the covers.

I stood at the foot of the bed for a long time, watching her, sick with fear and dread. Eventually she sat up, reached for my hand, and whispered, “Severus…” Pushing aside all reason and doubt, I climbed in with her.

She turned her back to me and pressed against me, molding every curve of her body to my own. I cautiously wrapped one arm around her waist, and she promptly took my hand in her own. She brought it to her chest, clutching my arm tightly around her. Then, miraculously, she placed a tiny, quick kiss on my palm. My stomach ached like it had been hollowed out with an icepick. I inhaled the scent of her hair, relishing the sensation of her body against my own. She felt so slight and willowy beside me that it stirred some primitive protective instinct within myself. I laid awake a long time after she drifted off, desperately trying to sear the moment into my memory. We’d be back at Hogwarts the next night- back to real life, back to being student and professor.


	25. Chapter 25

We laid in bed, dozing off and on, until late in the morning. We rose quite reluctantly, and neither of us spoke as we had breakfast. I simply watched her, and she stared right back at me. I could only choke down a couple bites of toast; I was nauseated and miserable with heartsickness. I placed my hand atop the table, and she reached across and laced her fingers into mine. And we just stayed like that until long after our coffee had gone cold. I couldn’t stand for it to be over- this perfect little bubble of happiness. _What if the spell is broken when we return to school? When she sees all those handsome, age-appropriate boys she’ll forget all about me. This is just some sort of PTSD response to having to send her parents away._

As if she could sense my spiraling thoughts, she squeezed my hand and whispered, “Stop that. We’re still us, ok?” I shook my head but didn’t dispute her point. “I’ve spent a lot of time with you over the past four months, Sir. I can read your thoughts on your face. You think you hide them so well, but I can see it all. Right there in your eyes.”

I scoffed at her, “Nonsense.” She gave a sad little laugh and responded, “Right now you’re telling yourself that everything is going to change. That I’m just being weird because of my parents. Right?” I gave a noncommittal little shrug, but she just grinned triumphantly and said no more.

We got in a few more hours of research, though we didn’t get a lot accomplished. All students and staff had to be back on school grounds by 5 pm, so we magically packed our materials and belongings at 4:30. We spent our final minutes lying on my bed, Hermione’s head resting on my chest. Her leg was thrown over my own, and her arm was wrapped tightly around my ribs. I held her to myself with both arms, desperately, frantically. We were each other’s sole lifelines as vicious reality seemed to swirl and eddy around us.

At five minutes till, I walked her hand-in-hand to the front door. We needed to stagger our arrivals, so I told her to go first. She threw her arms around my waist, hugging me fiercely. She looked up at me with steely, surprisingly dry eyes and said, “See you on the other side.” I lowered my head, planting a sweet, lingering kiss on the top of her head. She spun away from me resolutely, flinging open the door and disapparating. I counted to 270 then followed her.

I sauntered into the gates just as they were closing, and proceeded up the slope to the castle. I could just make out her silhouette, outlined against the light flooding from the open doors, as she entered the school. By the time I took my seat at the high table, she was already deep in conversation with her two dunderheads. They all had very serious expressions on their faces; I assumed she was recounting the story of her parents’ narrow escape.

I picked over my food, but refused to leave until she did. I watched her in my peripheral vision, feeling irrational, jealous little pangs every time she laughed at or touched one of her friends. _You’re fucking pathetic **,**_ I scolded myself. I felt strangely relieved when they finally left the Great Hall. I retreated to my lab and proceeded to blast The Cure and get blitzed.

I sat at her desk, chugging whiskey from the bottle and smoking my water pipe. I obsessively reviewed the past six days in my mind, parsing every phrase for subtext, analyzing facial expressions. _She sees you as a fatherly figure. You’re a source of strength and comfort with her parents gone,_  I asserted to myself.

_Oh, yeah? How many teenage girls like to sleep wrapped around their fathers? Especially when their fathers have giant fucking erections the entire time?_

Starting to creep myself out with the darkness of my thoughts, I banged my head repeatedly on the desk. The wall dissolved as I was letting loose a particularly colorful string of expletives targeted at myself.

She took in the state of me disapprovingly. “What’s all this then?” she asked.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming…” I explained lamely.

She rolled her eyes. “Well I thought we’d be able to get some work done tonight, but I see **that** isn’t going to happen.” She walked over and took the needle off the record. Then she snatched the bottle and the pipe from me and put them away.

“Come on, you need some fresh air to sober you up.” She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, took me by the hand, and led me up from the dungeons and onto the grounds. We walked towards the lake, Hermione steering me the whole way. I noticed she was shivering; the daft girl wasn’t even wearing a coat. I pulled her tight to my side, tucking her under my cloak.

Snow was gently falling, lending an otherworldly silence to the grounds. We made it to the shore, and Hermione stood with her back to my chest, looking out across the frozen lake. I wrapped her more tightly in my cloak and rested my chin on the top of her head. We watched the snow falling for a long time, simply enjoying each others warmth and the serene beauty before us.

After a while, she turned around to face me. “You can do it to me if you want, you know,” she murmured. I couldn’t make out much of the expression on her disillusioned face, so I cast the counter-spell wandlessly. Her stunning visage swam into view, causing a sudden ache in my gut. “Do what to you?” I inquired, obviously thinking inappropriate thoughts.

“You can legilimize me whenever you want. You can look at anything you want. Anything. I have nothing to hide from you,” she said, quietly but passionately. “I want you to know what’s in there. I want you to know everything.” She looked at me then with such fire in her eyes. I had never seen her look so sure about anything. “I know you’re too drunk to do it right now, but that’s ok. I’m here whenever you’re ready. I’m not afraid.”

I wondered if she was trying to convey a double meaning, and the stridency of her speech made me think that was the case. I held her gorgeous, elfin face in my hands and looked deeply into her eyes. I wanted so badly to say something meaningful, something amazing, but I was too terrified. “Gods, Hermione…” I sighed, lamely, and she nodded like she understood exactly what I meant.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains sexual violence!

The next few weeks passed in a holding pattern, as I was vigilantly keeping her at arm’s length. She came to my laboratory every night, and we worked together professionally and efficiently, if not awkwardly. Our output of potions was impressive as ever. After a lot of insistence on her part, I was even allowing her to help me with some of the slightly less dangerous work the Dark Lord had assigned me. We were making fantastic strides in our research project as well. Our Legilimency lessons I had allowed to lapse, however.

I guess I was too terrified of what I might find… of what she might find. I didn’t even understand the depth of my own feelings about her, so I was terrified at the prospect of her poking around in my head again. I sheltered a profusion of highly inappropriate thoughts inside the dark corners of my mind, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be disgusted or terrified by me.

_You’re a filthy, sick pervert. You may not be a rapist, but you’re far from innocent. If she knew the sordid, depraved things you’re into… she’d turn and run. She’s a perfectly immaculate young woman. You think she’s going to be into the rough, degrading kind of shit you’re into? Please…_

In moments of weakness, I would allow her to hug me goodnight. When I felt arousal building between my legs, I’d send her immediately on her way. I took a lot of cold showers, having resolved to stop entertaining inappropriate fantasies about her. I cut myself off from masturbation cold turkey, hoping to end the positive feedback loop that had been slowly convincing my brain that any of this shit was a good idea.

One Friday night at the end of January, the Dark Lord summoned me for an update on my progress in my self-appointed task of seducing Hermione and thereby collecting information on Potter. I showed him carefully curated scenes from our stay at Grimmauld Place. I hid the more lascivious shots, such as her undressing me in the restroom and perversely sucking on my thumb, for future use. I fully intended to never touch her again, so I needed to keep the charade going as long as possible.

He was unhappy with my progress, however, and took out his displeasure on me. I was Cruciated for a number of hours, but then Bellatrix wandered in and decided she wanted to join the fun. Never one to turn down an offer from his favorite pet, He sat back and watched impassively as Bellatrix savaged me like a dog with a bone.

She vanished all my clothing, leaving me kneeling fully naked on the ground in front of them. My skeletal knees dug into the flagstone floor; my over-stimulated nerve endings seared in the cold dungeon air. She pushed me down onto all fours and summoned a thin, flexible cane from her room.

The air cracked and my skin burned with white-hot flames, over and over and over again until I saw no more, heard no more, the world was darkness, the world was fire, _it could just end here, that would be nice, if it was just nothing ever again, nothing ever again._..

My mind slowly drifted back into focus, and I realized she had ceased caning me. Every inch of my back, my ass, and all down my thighs and calves formed a solid mass of scorching agony. _This must be what cremation feels like_ , I thought absently.

And then she was grabbing a heavy cast-iron poker from beside the fireplace. Her smile as she approached me was terrifying: unfocused and demented, like the snarl of a rabid creature. She held the length of metal above me for a long, agonizing moment, before bringing it swiftly down across my back.

My spine felt like it was shattering as I collapsed onto my stomach. I crushed my balls as I fell, but the pain was incomparable to what she was inflicting on me. She beat me two more times with the heavy implement- once on my ass, and once across the backs of my knees. I felt sure she had fractured bones; a high-pitched, keening noise escaped my throat as I struggled for oxygen.

And then I felt her lifting my hips into the air. Suddenly, cold metal was pressing against me. She slowly, inexorably, shoved the blunt end of the poker into my asshole, laughing maniacally the whole time. “Is this what you want, Snape? Is that why you can’t get the little girl to let you fuck her? Cause you want to be fucked in the ass like the submissive whore you are?!” she taunted me, looking at the Dark Lord for approval. He watched the scene serenely, as if he were simply catching a Sunday cricket game at the park. “You’re weak, Snape. You can’t even get it up at the revels! Do you know how much we laugh at you?! Your name is an insult here, you pussy fucking cunt,” she hissed.

The end of the poker was now through my sphincter, and my muscles screamed and seized in agony at the invasion. She began ferociously thrusting it in and out of me; the cold metal catching and pulling on my exquisitely sensitive skin. She knelt down behind me and reached around my hips, fondling my flaccid penis with one hand as she violated me with the other. When my body refused to respond to her, she cackled triumphantly. “Can’t even get it up while being fucked in the ass, Snape? You really ARE pathetic!”

She sodomized me for a few more minutes, spewing forth a stream of taunts and mock-seduction. Eventually, she grew tired of her game when I refused to make a sound or respond in any way. She yanked the heavy metal rod out of me and returned it nonchalantly to its stand beside the fireplace. She wandered out of the room without another word, leaving me bloodied and naked on the floor.

The Dark Lord waved me off silently, dispassionately observing my frightful state. Without a sound, I scrambled forward, kissed the hem of his robe, and crawled out of the room. Lucius was waiting on the other side of the door with a spare set of Death Eater robes. He helped me to my feet, slid the heavy clothing carefully over my ruined back, and offered me a bottle of scotch. I sucked a third of the bottle down my throat at once and handed it back to him. He nodded significantly at me, and I returned it. He wrapped my arm around his shoulder and helped me hobble to the front door. I apparated away as he raised his hand in a half-hearted salute.

I entered the Hogwarts gate, pausing and looking despondently at the accursed hill I’d spend the next half-hour struggling up. Suddenly, I heard the snow crunch behind me and spun around with wand in hand. And there she was, concern etched into the lines of her forehead. She took my face in her hands, staring intently into my eyes. In the plentiful moonlight, she could see the blood that flowed freely from my nose; the grim, haunted look about my mouth; the tears that still leaked, unbidden, from the corners of my eyes. She pulled me down to her, placing a lingering kiss on my sweaty, blood-stained forehead. I couldn’t believe she would do such a thing, but I was immensely comforted.

After a minute, I relented and allowed her to place my arm on her shoulder and take a good deal of my weight onto herself. As we gradually proceeded up the incline to the castle, she pointed her wand at me and murmured an endless stream of pain-blocking charms. Every tiny movement dragged the fabric of my robe against the open wounds on my back and legs. Blood dripped inexorably down my legs, leaving a trail of droplets in our wake. My only solace was that Bellatrix clearly hadn’t broken my spine with that damned poker as I had feared.

After what felt like hours, she was opening the bookcase entrance to my quarters. She tried to make me sit on the chaise, but I shook my head emphatically. I indicated that she should leave, but she resolutely ignored me. I started to yell at her to _just fucking go_ , but the only sound that escaped my throat was a dry, choked noise that was ghoulishly reminiscent of a death rattle. She rolled her eyes at my posturing, reaching for the front of my clothing. I turned my back to her abruptly and began to undo the closures on my robes with palsied hands. After an embarrassingly long time, I was finally able to lower the top of my robes, exposing my wounded back to her. She let out an involuntary cry, a cross between a terrified scream and a woeful sob.

She ran to my first-aid cabinet, pulling the bottle of Dittany off the top shelf. She carefully dribbled the essence along each thin, lengthy wound, and I felt my skin knitting itself back together. Then she coated my entire back with a healing salve, placing a bandaging charm to keep it from wiping off on anything.

She reached for the robes I was still grasping, vice-like, around my waist. I shook my head vehemently, pointing at the door. She glared at me pugnaciously and grabbed me by the upper arm. She steered me into the center of the room then pushed me, none too gently, towards the bed. Lacking the energy to argue, I laid face-down on the comforter. I carefully tucked my bits underneath me and out of view before I pulled the robes off of myself.

Heroically, she didn’t make a single sound when she took in the state of the rest of me. The wounds from the caning only wept slightly now, so it was very obvious where the dark stream of blood staining my thighs originated. She cast a cleansing charm and a clotting charm, finally stopping the flow. She proceeded to cast dozens of healing charms, obviously reciting every single one she’d ever heard of or read about. As an untrained healer, she didn’t know how to diagnose the extent of my internal injuries or how to properly treat them. So she contented herself with simply deluging my body with healing magic and hoping for the best. The sensation of her magic flowing through me was remarkably similar to the feeling of being inside her mind: supple but sturdy, serene but electrifying.

After about fifteen minutes of her surprisingly effective restoration, my insides had been left with nothing more than a dull ache and general tenderness. I indicated she could stop, so she returned to my wounds. They’d been mostly closed from the massive amounts of power flowing through my body, so she just touched up a few spots with Dittany, then covered the rest of my visible skin with healing salve and bandage charms. She returned from the cabinet with a small handful of pills. I swallowed them dry, unwilling to sit up enough for a sip of water.

She stood at my bedside, stroking my sweaty hair and face soothingly, for a long time. I tried to tell her to leave me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Eventually, I took her hand and pulled her towards me imploringly. She gave me a tender smile and walked around to the other side of the bed, kicked off her shoes, and climbed up next to me. She laid on her back, and I dragged myself the last couple of inches to curl up next to her. I rested my head on her stomach, curling partway into a fetal position and hugging her hips. She continued to stroke my hair, massaging my scalp soothingly, until finally the drugs took their blessed hold and I drifted away.


	27. Chapter 27

I slept through most of Saturday, and I when I finally dragged myself out of bed it was nearly dinnertime. I limped into my laboratory to find her bent over a cauldron, cautiously adding Venomous Tentacula leaves one by one. Careful not to disturb her, I peered over her shoulder to see what she was brewing. It wasn’t a potion I was familiar with, and the length of parchment next to her was covered in a series of scribbles and crossed-out notes.

I gingerly lowered myself onto the armchair by the fire to watch her work. She seemed to be making something of her own invention, and was constantly cross-referencing texts and performing each step slowly and warily.

She was sprinkling crushed Dittany flowers into the cauldron when it suddenly expanded, bubbling up aggressively. It popped and spit, spraying all over her. She was wearing protective goggles and had her hair fastidiously tied back, but the boiling potion had splattered all over the front of her robes. She vanished the concoction in an instant, but the damage was already done. She frantically pulled the clothing off of her, examining the destruction.

But then she laughed enthusiastically and ran over to me. She had discovered the protective enchantments on the fabric far sooner than I’d expected. “Oh my gods, Professor!” she gushed, “This is bloody incredible! These robes must have cost you a month’s worth of pay!” She seemed scared of hurting me if she hugged me, so I grabbed the front of her t-shirt and pulled her onto my lap. The extra weight made my ass ache horribly, but I couldn’t have cared less.

She sat sideways on my lap, resting her head comfortably on my shoulder. I encircled her with my arms, and she wrapped hers around my neck. “So what in the bloody hell were you doing there, girl?” I asked gruffly, failing to disguise the affection in my voice.

“I’ve been working on an idea for a while. This was the first attempt I made at actually brewing something. I multiplied some of my strongest painkillers with a Geminus Charm, and I was working on combining them with some of the few magical elements that reliably work on dark magic. Clearly, I still have a way to go…”

“Why wouldn’t you ask me for help? This is kind of my area of expertise,” I said sarcastically.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to try to figure this out on my own, you know? I guess I wanted to impress you…” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

“You impress me every damn day, Hermione,” I whispered, then placed a small kiss on her ear.

After a few minutes of academic discussion about her project, she told me that we should go to dinner. I outright refused, saying that my lower intestine would be in no shape for solid food for a couple days. She declared that she wouldn’t go if I wasn’t going, so I rolled my eyes and called for a house elf to bring her a tray. She forced me to drink the broth from her bowl of bouillabaisse and shoved a couple small bits of white bread in my mouth. I tried to pour myself a drink, but she scolded me and put a glass of water in my hand instead. I glowered at her venomously as she fretted and mothered me; she, of course, ignored this completely.

_You can’t even scare her when you try now. You growl at her and she rolls her eyes. You yell at her and she yells back. She’s not intimidated by you. Not really. She’s seen your naked, sodomized ass dripping with blood. She’s seen the revels. She’s brewed deadly poisons for you. And through it all she’s still here._

After just a couple hours of research and discussion concerning her invention, we were both yawning frequently. I told her that she had to spend this night in her own dorm, lest she raise her roommates’ suspicions. She argued that she was always the last girl in bed at night and the first to rise every morning. But after a few minutes of dealing with my stubbornness, she nodded her reluctant assent and rose to leave. I followed her to the entryway, pulling her to me for a lingering embrace before she left.

I tried to thank her for helping me last night, but my stupid fucking pride wouldn’t let me force the words out. I just kissed her on the forehead, leaving my lips pressed to her soft skin for a lingering tender moment. I took her hair out of its tight bun and buried my hands in it, intently gazing into her eyes. I tried to make her understand my gratitude, my loneliness, my all-consuming desire, my grasping neediness, all with nothing but my intense, unblinking gaze. She nodded; my message seemed to have gotten through. “I know, Sir. I’m here. Whenever you need me…” she whispered, so quietly that her voice was little more than a gasp of breath.


	28. Chapter 28

After a week I was fully healed and feeling like myself again. Hermione, on the other hand, was still walking on eggshells around me, clearly concerned that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress. She didn’t understand that bullshit like that was simply par for the course for me. Part of me enjoyed her constant fretting though, so I didn’t do much to dissuade her.

It was late in the evening the following Saturday. Hermione and I had been working nonstop since 9 AM and had just put the cauldrons away for the night. We had finally produced a stable version of her potion and were celebrating her triumph. I fried up some sausage and eggs, way too exhausted to do anything fancy, but she inhaled them just like everything I made for her. We were recounting our many failures, reminiscing about the explosions and the enormous messes we’d made.

“Remember when you decided that the fire was too cold so you poked it with your wand?!” she choked out, bent over double from laughter, “I’ve never seen a plume so high in my life!!”

I chuckled, bumping her with my shoulder playfully, “That’s not funny! I had to regrow my eyebrows!”

“That’s right! That was the second hair disaster! Remember when we were super tired, and I laid my head down on the desk?!”

“Your hair burning is literally the worst stench I’ve ever experienced in my life! And I’ve smelt INFERI!” I exclaimed, making a horrified face.

I fell backwards onto the couch, spread-eagled. She giggled and jumped on top of me. I let out an “oof!” as her weight landed on my stomach, and I instinctively grabbed her under her armpits. “NOOO!!” she screamed, apparently ticklish. I cackled evilly, holding her tight to my chest with one arm as I mercilessly attacked her ribs with the other. She screeched and kicked and flailed about, but she was woefully out-muscled. After a couple seconds I stopped annoying her but kept her pressed just as tightly to me. Her entire body was lying atop my own, and I found that her slight weight was unbelievably comforting. I felt like I’d never have trouble sleeping again if I had her as my own personal blanket every night. She wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled my chest in a ridiculously adorable sort of way.

Then she looked up at me, eyes bright and shiny with laughter, and there was such trust in her gaze, that I just dove…

 

 

> **She had no Occlumency walls up at all. The fabric of her being spread around me luxuriously, stunning me as always with its subtle perfection. She was a glorious abstract mosaic of reds, yellows, dark purples, and, strangely, a great deal of pinks. I pulled on a vibrant ruby thread, and a scene from a few months ago swam into view. It was the night she’d finally brewed Wolfsbane perfectly without any help from me. She was so proud, I could feel it bubbling in my chest, invigorating and effervescent like champagne.**
> 
> **I refocused and tugged a bright, lemony strand. It was the night I gave her the presents. I watched from her eyes as she pulled the spectacular robes out of the box. She noticed that the fabric, though black, somehow still reflected light. It shone in the firelight, glimmering like onyx. Her chest was filled with all-consuming, blazing joy. _He really cares about me! He must have spent over a hundred galleons on all of this! And he cooked that incredible dinner just for me! He went to so much effort, and was so thoughtful… He must like me! He has to! Why else would he do all this?!_**
> 
> **Feeling my own delirious ecstasy joining and intermingling with her own was nearly orgasmic. High on this discovery, I pulled an adjoining aubergine thread, moving a couple minutes forward in time. Lost in the swirling delirium of our emotions, I fell headfirst into her memory-**
> 
> **_I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. He really does like me! AHHHH!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!!!_ Desperate to touch him, I tentatively slide my fingers under his shirt. He gives an involuntary little shudder, so I boldly lay my hand flat against his skin. He groans, pressing against me deliriously. _I’m doing that to him! Just by touching his back! I can’t believe it!_**
> 
> **I let my second hand join my first, lightly stroking his back in a way I hope isn’t super awkward. _Gods I’m so stupid! I have no idea what I’m doing! Why would I think an experienced man like him would ever look at me as anything but a scrawny, ugly, little geek?!_**
> 
> **He grabs me roughly by the hip with his powerful, long-fingered hand. _I bet he could nearly encircle my entire waist with those things…_ I can feel him stroking the waistband of my knickers, hopefully planning to remove them soon. His other hand is on my lower back, pressing me against his erection. I rub against him, trying to encourage him to keep going. I dig my nails into his back, silently urging him to go lower, lower....  _gods please I’m dying!_**
> 
> **I am throbbing between the legs and my underwear are uncomfortably sodden. I want nothing more than for him to kneel before me, rip them off of me, and remove some of this awful pressure that makes me feel like _I’m going to faint if he doesn’t just touch me right fucking now!!!_**
> 
> **“Why did you do all this, Sir?” I whisper, terrified out of my mind for his answer. “Because it’s Christmas holiday and I wanted to,” he answers, and his voice is husky and unreadable. Feeling guilty, I start to say, “I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”**
> 
> **“Hush,” he murmurs in that deep, incredibly sexy voice, “you’ve given me so much more than you could ever imagine, Hermione.”**
> 
> _**Oh my gods what does that mean??? He can’t keep playing these games with me! I can’t stand it! He HAS to want me! It can’t just be his body responding to me! He wouldn’t have gone to so much effort if he didn’t care… At least a little…** _
> 
> _**I need to make him see me as more than his student. I have to. I can do this.** _
> 
> **I whisper his name, trying to sound bold and sensual but utterly failing.**
> 
> **But then his hand is on my face, stroking my cheek with a touch as light as silk. He grips my chin between his fingers, staring fiercely into my eyes. I try to return his expression with confidence, hoping I don’t look like the awkward little girl I am desperately trying to prove I’m not.**
> 
> **Then his rough, callused thumb is gently caressing my lower lip. I kiss it reflexively, and his eyes roll back in his head. Encouraged by his response, I take the tip of his finger between my lips. He lets out an enormous, animalistic groan, and a thrill of electricity shoots through my stomach and straight to my clitoris. Delirious with desire, I stroke his thumb with my tongue, swirling around and flicking the tip playfully.**
> 
> **He is grinding his hips lewdly against me now, and I don’t even care that it hurts. I am completely drunk on power. I bob my head a couple times, sliding my mouth along his thumb in a truly pornographic manner. I try to feel ashamed of my desperate display, but I can't manage it.**
> 
> **Suddenly, something snaps inside of him, like a rubber band that’s been stretched just a bit too far. His eyes go dark, and his expression is predatory. He grabs me by the neck and the behind, squeezing me uncomfortably hard, but I don't mind in the least. I am staring at his lips, begging him silently to _please just kiss me!_  He is so close. _So close._ He looms over me, I stretch as far as I can, desperately trying to get closer to him. So close. _Please. Please. GODS PLEASE JUST DO IT ALREADY!!!_**

 

I surfaced from her mind, not wanting to relive what happened next. I looked at her in awe, unsure what to do with this new information. I was utterly paralyzed with shock. She frowned and scrambled off of me when I didn’t respond after a few minutes. She started to look panicked, and grabbed her bag off of the floor. “I should go…” she mumbled, blushing furiously. She dashed into the dungeon hallway and disappeared.

My limbs were all numb and tingly. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. My mind was bizarrely blank, as if the power had been switched off at the source. I grappled with my sluggish thoughts, trying to understand what I’d just seen. Finally, a single voice broke through the fog of shock and disbelief, _SHE WANTS YOU, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!_

I leapt to my feet and sprinted after her. When I reached the entry hall, I saw that the front door had been left slightly ajar. Following my instincts, I flew out the double doors, scanning the dark grounds for her. I saw a set of footprints heading down to the lake, so I followed them. There was a full-fledged blizzard going on, and I wrapped my cloak tightly about myself, squinting desperately to see through the impenetrable whiteness.

I caught up with her on the shore of the lake. She was shivering and soaking wet, wearing only thin leggings and her class robes. I grabbed her from behind, spinning her around by the shoulders. I wrapped her in my cloak, pulling her petite form to me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she sobbed dejectedly. “Hush. Hush. None of that,” I whispered hastily, drying her cheeks and eyes with my sleeve. “Please don’t cry. You have nothing to cry about. Nothing at all. Nothing.” I placed a dozen little kisses all over her face as I spoke, trying to reassure her.

She looked up at me, and her face was so hopeful, so gorgeous, so perfectly brilliant in every conceivable way. Every sense of responsibility within me fell away, and I had no fucks left to give. _Fuck Dumbledore. Fuck the Dark Lord. Fuck this school. Fuck propriety. Fuck all of it._

“Are you sure about all this?” I asked urgently, “You’re really sure?”

She nodded fervently. Her fingers were laced behind my neck, pulling me inexorably downward. I could feel every curve of her body as she pressed against me. I was desperate for her. Sick with need. I was a dying man in the desert, and she was the oasis. I was a sapling, stretching frantically for her radiance. She was the air, and I just had to swim harder, to push through the surface and breathe her in…

With a great burst of daring, I buried my hands deep in her glorious mane and pulled her face to my own…

I had a split-second impression of sweet succulence- ripe fruit, warm tea, firewhiskey…

Then a piercing sting shot between our lips like a tiny bolt of lightning. She shrieked, jumping backwards and grabbing her face. I let loose a stream of truly scandalous curses while furiously casting massive orbs of fire across the frozen lake with my wand.

“What the fuck was that?!” she panted, grabbing her bottom lip where the pain was still slowly receding.

“I can’t believe I fucking forgot!” I yelled, quite deranged, still sending plumes of fire into the now partially-melted lake. “The fucking ward! How could I forget the fucking ward?! I’ve been obsessing about kissing you for MONTHS and it never once crossed my mind that I can’t even fucking do it!!”

“You’ve been thinking about it for months?” she asked, grinning at me flirtatiously.

“ARRRGH!!! DON’T YOU SEE IT DOESN’T MATTER! NONE OF IT FUCKING MATTERS! WE CAN’T FUCKING DO ANYTHING!!!”

“What are you talking about?!”

I explained impatiently, “In the late 1700s Hogwarts had this ridiculously corrupt Headmaster for a couple decades. He had these ideas about building a superior wizarding race or something. Typical horseshit. The point is that he cultivated an unfortunate habit of seducing and impregnating his students. Nothing he was doing was technically illegal at that point in history, but the school governors didn’t like the idea of him making the school into his own private teen girl harem, so they passed a bylaw requiring a ward to be placed on the castle. It prevents professors and students from kissing or touching each other on their… uhh… nude private areas, for lack of a better term...” I finished lamely with an exhausted shrug.

“So every time we kiss, we’ll get shocked?” she inquired, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Even though I’m of age to consent?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck…” she groaned, kicking at a snow bank angrily.

“Indeed.” I pulled her back into my cloak, resting my chin on top of her head. She cried silently into my chest, trying valiantly to hide it from me. I rocked her gently, pressing kisses to the top of her head. There was nothing to be said. I simply held her and watched the snow, wondering why I couldn’t be allowed just one tiny spot of happiness in this fucked up mess I called my life.


	29. Chapter 29

The first two weeks of February were a dark time for us. While a small part of me was deliriously happy knowing that Hermione desired me as well, the depression of being unable to fulfill our needs was overwhelming. We threw ourselves into our work in an attempt to sublimate our frustrations. Hermione was now doing nearly all of my grading and lesson planning for me because she was so much faster and, honestly, better at it.

She had an innate sense for how to tailor subjects to certain ages, and she was amazing at finding ways to teach Defense in a hands-on way without it being too dangerous. She confessed to me that she’d organized the illegal defense club “Dumbledore’s Army” last year, something that I had long suspected. She was a natural teacher, something that should have been apparent from the way she was constantly helping her pet dunderheads with their schoolwork. I had told her countless times over the past five months that she should seriously consider applying to be a Hogwarts professor after she finished her secondary education.

There was a lot of tension around the laboratory, and we frequently found ourselves getting into arguments over small things. We’d fight over the appropriate length to assign for a second-year essay, whether safety goggles were really needed when chopping gurdyroots, the appropriate volume for music, Nicholas Flamel’s age at the time he died, the list goes on and on. Fortunately, neither of us took these things seriously or held grudges.

We were studiously avoiding physical contact. Instead of placing a set of shears directly into her hand, I’d place it on the desk next to her. She would walk around the entire other side of the table rather than squeeze behind me and risk our bodies brushing against each other. If we were on the couch, we’d sit pressed against the arms as far as possible from each other. But nothing could keep me from staring at her incessantly. I’d watch her as she scribbled a scathing critique on an essay, perfectly imitating me. Concentrating on reading a boring medical text was practically impossible when she was bent over a steaming cauldron with that pert little ass in the air.

Every single movement she made was so nimble, so precise, that I couldn’t help but watch her. I was a man obsessed. She haunted my dreams, waking me in the middle of the night with raging hard-ons that I’d have to take care of before I could fall back asleep. I’d be in the middle of a lecture and would lose my train of thought because I flipped over a page in my notes and found a strand of her hair. I watched her out of the corner of my eye at every meal, bristling any time someone touched her.

It was pure torture when she was in my class. I mocked her and her friends relentlessly, openly laughing when one of them would make a mistake. Once she got so angry at me for berating Weasley that I had to send her out of the room to cool off. Her efforts were essentially flawless as always, but she took criticism of her friends’ work just as personally as if it were her own. I’m ashamed to admit that I was more than slightly jealous of her relationship with those stupid boys. She was so fiercely protective of them. They could just look at each other and communicate without speaking. Every time she laughed at their jokes, my fingers reflexively twitched for my wand to curse them into oblivion.

On Friday the 12th, the tensions finally reached a breaking point. We were working on Reflective Shield Charms in class, and Hermione was paired with Potter. She cast a particularly powerful Leg-Locker Jinx at him, and he parried it, but it went way too wide. Instead of reflecting back at her, it flew across the room and knocked Seamus Finnegan to the floor. “What the hell was that, Potter?” I stormed across the room and loomed over him threateningly.

“It was just an accident!” he protested with righteous indignation.

“I know it was an accident, you bloody stupid prat! We’ve been working on this charm for three days now! What if this were a battle, and that was a Killing Curse, huh? You could’ve murdered one of your own comrades!” I spat.

“Yeah, I fucking understand that! But that’s why we PRACTICE! So we don’t make mistakes in the REAL WORLD!!!” His eyes were bulging behind his round glasses, and his face was red with embarrassment and fury.

“LANGUAGE POTTER!!!” I thundered, “FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!”

“That’s crazy! You can’t do that!” Hermione had stomped over and was in my face now too. “It was just an accident! He didn’t mean to hurt Seamus, and he didn’t mean to say a curse word! He was just worked up! You know, like you are now!” she said to me pointedly.

“What precisely has given you the impression that you can speak to me like that, Miss Granger?” I hissed dangerously, “You seem to be operating under the assumption that you are something special, that you are above the rules that apply to everyone else.”

I paused for dramatic effect, staring down my nose at her coldly, “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Miss Granger, but you are nothing special. You’re just a naive child who thinks she’s better than everyone else because she’s a bit clever. The world is going to eat you up and spit you out, little girl…”

I annunciated, drawing each syllable out dangerously, “Detention, Miss Granger. My office tonight. 10 pm. You are both dismissed.” I sent the two of them out of my classroom, bellowing at the other students to get back to work. No one made a single sound other than casting and parrying jinxes for the rest of the period.


	30. Chapter 30

I was sitting in my now-rather-sparse office waiting for her, still fuming from the altercation nearly 12 hours before. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence; The Golden Trio and I had fights like that in class all the time. So why was I so much angrier this time? _Duh. Because you were jealous that she was taking his side over yours._

I tried to convince myself that I was above such pettiness. But I knew that if she Legilimized into my mind right now, she’d see hardly any hue other than green. _You’re madder at yourself than you are at her, but you’re taking it out on her. That’s fucking bullshit. You should be ashamed of yourself. Acting like a goddamned hormonal teenager._

But when she knocked on my door at 9:55 and entered, my body immediately flooded with cortisol and all the self-reflection of earlier evaporated away. I was suddenly just as angry as I had been when she and Potter were screaming in my face.

“Good evening, Miss Granger. You will be sorting through my files," I indicated the cabinet in the corner, "and organizing them for your detention tonight, understood?”

“But I just organized them two months ago,” she protested.

“Then organize them again…” I hissed warningly.

“Don’t you think it’s a little silly for me to serving detention with you, Sir?” she asked, exasperation apparent in her voice. “I mean… I’ve done literally hundreds of hours of work for you…”

I flew out of my seat, charging around to the other side of the desk. “This is exactly my point, girl! You think the rules don’t apply to you! You think you can just disrespect me, in my own fucking classroom, in front of my students!”

I was leaning over her as I yelled, hands aggressively gripping the chair arms on either side of her.

She shrank back from me slightly, then seemed to get her nerve back. She sat straight up in the chair, sticking her face right in my own. “I’m not just going to lay back and let you attack my friends!”

“That’s EXACTLY what you’re going to do! You’re going to respect me, and you’re going to respect the rules of this fucking institution!”

“Oh, like you’re respecting the rules?! I think spending the holiday curled up in bed with your student is PROBABLY AGAINST THE RULES!!” she stood up suddenly, breaking my hold on the chair and forcing me back a half-step. “I think Dumbledore JUST MIGHT POSSIBLY frown on you kissing me, SIR!!!” she shouted mockingly.

I stared at her for a long time, nostrils flaring as I sucked in one ragged breath after the other. I finally whispered, venom lacing my silky tone, “This is dangerous ground you’re treading, little girl.”

“What are you going to have me do for punishment?! Clean cauldrons? Disembowel newts? Do your paperwork? I already do all of that!” she cried, eyes bulging crazily.

“Maybe we should serve detention the old-fashioned way, hmm, little girl?” I purred dangerously. “Maybe a little corporal punishment will teach you a lesson…”

She was at a loss for words. She simply stared at me, blushing furiously, mouth slightly agape.

I grabbed her by the upper arm, yanking her around to face the desk behind me. In one swift movement, I pulled her hips out with one hand while forcing her face-first onto the desk with the other. She was bent nearly double, cheek and palms flat on the dark wooden surface. I placed one hand on the back of her neck, pressing her down firmly. With the other, I drew the back of her school robes up her legs.

She gasped rather alluringly when the cold air of the dungeon reached her legging-clad thighs. “Such a nice little ass you have, Miss Granger,” I murmured, my voice silken and languorous. I allowed my index finger to run up the length of her inner thigh, and she gave an involuntary shiver when I just barely brushed past her center. Smirking to myself, I traced the same finger across the top of her petite little bottom, wrapped around the side of it, and pulled away again just as I was about to touch her where she wanted. She groaned in frustration and looked over her shoulder at me beseechingly.

I grinned at her with a feral gleam in my eye. She let out a yelp when I abruptly brought my hand down, slapping her diminutive ass relatively gently. She wiggled deliciously, making my cock throb with animalistic hunger. I spanked her again, harder this time, and she let out a scream that was loud, but distinctly carnal. I lost control at the sound, slapping her over and over again as she screamed and, eventually, cried. After a couple of minutes, I slowed my assault, squeezing and rubbing her ass lewdly between single swats. She was moaning non-stop now, spewing forth an endless current of astoundingly erotic sounds.

I eventually stopped when her noises became distinctly more uncomfortable. I didn’t let her up though, but stood behind her and laid myself across her back. I pressed against her, obscenely rubbing her backside with my swollen cock. I could feel the heat from her cunt, and I ached to be inside her.

I pulled her hair away from her ear, sensually laving the edge of it with my tongue before whispering, “Now there’s a good little girl. Nice and submissive. That’s what I like to see: you bent over, screaming for me. Do you like that, little girl?”

“Yes…” she whispered, eyes firmly shut.

“Tell me…” I breathed in her ear.

“Yes, Master Snape. I like it when you punish me. I like when I feel your erection,” she gasped out, blushing furiously.

“There’s a good girl. Well, this was a very successful detention, if I do say so myself. Now get out of here before I take you on this desk, ward be damned.”

She scampered out of my office without once looking at my face. I fell into her chair, ripping my trousers down as I did so. I beat off feverishly, coming within seconds. I was quite certain that I could’ve easily had an orgasm from just one more minute of rubbing it against her burning hot little cunt. I nearly sprinted to my quarters, and spent the rest of the night drinking and masturbating, full of self-contempt.


	31. Chapter 31

I slept quite poorly and got out of bed before dawn the next day. Having resolved a plan in my head during the long, miserable night, I went straight to the owlery. I sent the short note anonymously with a school owl, trusting my distinct handwriting to let her know who it came from. I watched the owl as it circled around Gryffindor tower, finally alighting on a window sill and tapping the glass with its beak. A slim pair of arms pulled it inside, and, a few seconds later, gave it a helpful toss back out into the air. I pensively watched the barn owl float back towards me, praying that she wouldn’t just rip up the note immediately.

I slumped back down to the dungeon, berating myself the whole way, _Well, you’ve done it this time. You let her see what a violent fucking pervert you are. And now it’s all over. You’ve ruined this once in a lifetime chance to be with the most intelligent, beautiful, brave, and compassionate witch you’ve ever met. How could you ever be so conceited as to think yourself worthy of touching her?_

I passed the day in my quarters, smoking ganja and listening to moody music in bed. I skipped the meals, not being able to stand the thought of seeing her giggling with those stupid fucking boys.

At ten minutes until midnight I was anxiously pacing the flagstone walk at the foot of the stairs. The castle doors cracked open, and Hermione’s disillusioned form slipped through and shut them silently. Feeling exceedingly relieved to see her, I jogged to the foot of the stairs and caught her deftly when she jumped from the top step. I spun her around, eliciting a round of delighted giggling. I set her down, chuckling quietly, and whispered, “You’re five minutes early.”

She gave me a quick hug, whispering back, “So you wanted to be with me at midnight on Saint Valentine’s Day?” She teased, “So romantic, Sir!”

I rolled my eyes, taking her by the hand and striding swiftly away from the castle. After a few minutes I plunged into the Forbidden Forest, lighting my wand as the moonlight faded beneath the canopy. I followed my path for over thirty minutes, carefully guiding Hermione by the hand the whole way. As we emerged into the clearing I so vigilantly maintained, she let out a gasp of astonishment.

The enormous glass greenhouse I had meticulously constructed to house the rare plants I needed for potion-making glimmered welcomingly in the moonlight. Its elaborately slanted and peaked modern architecture reflected the light strangely, giving it an other-worldly sort of glow. There was no apparent door; I raised my wand, sang a single note, and a section of glass near us dissolved. I took both of her hands in my own, walking backwards and pulling her along with me. I watched her face as we pushed past a large Rambling Rhododendron and emerged into the temperate zone. The gold in her eyes glimmered fantastically as tiny floating orbs of light glowed into life all around us.

She gasped, head swinging rapidly this way and that, trying to take in the profusion of life all around us. Huge, shaggy trees towered hundreds of meters above our heads, taking full advantage of the Undetectable Endless Expansion Charm I’d placed on the ceiling. Teeming shrubs grew into each other, fighting ruthlessly for space. Dozens of species of grass formed a patchwork over the ground, barely restrained within their charmed territories.

Pulling on her hand, I took her down the aisle to a darkened area where far fewer of the firefly-like lights hovered. Within a couple meters, the fresh forest gave way to a dank, cave-like atmosphere. Enormous mushrooms towered over us, some large enough to curl up on and take a nap. Shelf fungi in every color of the rainbow spread over the sparse tree trunks, covering nearly every square inch of free space. Growths in the most bizarre and psychedelic shapes sprung from the fallen trees that littered the ground. A particularly cheeky little pink shroom danced invitingly as we strolled past, puffing little clouds of spores at us.

Finally, we transitioned into my favorite part of the greenhouse, the tropical zone. The humidity rose even further, making Hermione’s hair frizz out adorably. “Oh my gods!” she exclaimed, gawking at the fantastical scene around us. She reached for a gargantuan, cherry-red pitcher plant, and I grabbed the back of her cardigan, yanking her away. The plant lunged forward, grasping at the spot she’d been standing a split-second before with its gaping maw. I laughed at her stunned expression, indicating five other carnivorous plants in our immediate vicinity.

Leaves as large as my torso burst from enormous shrubs twice my height. Tall, impossibly thin trees waved luxuriously in the enchanted breeze. A half-dozen species of bamboo crowded aggressively against their boundary spell, seeming to eye the the prime patch of land occupied by nearly a hundred species of orchid. Every last orchid was a marvel to behold, forming the most elaborate and delicate shapes, and clad in impossibly vibrant colors and patterns.

Hundreds of other flowers fought for our attention in every direction, each one more fantastical and peculiar than the last. This one hummed a little melody. That one waved its stamens in a “come-hither” motion. This one was a such a dark, impossibly opaque violet that it seemed to be an entirely new color of its own.

“This is incredible…” she breathed, looking around us in awe.

I pulled her to me, encircling her waist with my hands. “Hermione…” I began, and she looked at me intently. “I want to apologize about last night. I lost control…”

“No!” she interrupted me, “Don’t start doing that! I know you’ve been beating yourself up about it all day. You think I wouldn’t notice that you skipped all three meals? Honestly!” she scoffed.

“But what I did was inexcusable. I abused my position of authority. I abused you…” I asserted determinedly.

“You think I wouldn’t have told you to stop if I wanted you to?! Do you not know me at all?! If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s standing up for myself!”

“But…” I began protesting, but she cut me off with a finger to my lips.

“Stop. I enjoyed it, ok…” she blushed. “It was, like, super hot. Ridiculously hot,” she whispered shyly, looking away. “It’s not like I don’t know tons of people do that kind of stuff… And way more intense stuff than that, even. I mean… I’m, you know, a virgin… So I’ve never done anything like that ever before… But last night was the most turned on I’ve ever been…” she confessed, her face and ears burning scarlet.

My heart joyfully leapt into my throat at her words. _She liked it! You made her the horniest she’s ever been in her life! And to top it all off, she’s still a virgin! Fuck yes!_

“So you liked it, huh, little girl?” I purred, my lips as close to her ear as possible without actually coming into contact. “You liked being punished by your big, bad potions master? Did you go to bed and touch yourself?” She nodded, still looking down, grasping agitatedly at the front of my shirt.

I leaned in, letting my lips brush the soft skin of her throat as I murmured, “Did you stick your fingers in your hot little pussy and think about me? Did you imagine my head buried between your legs?”

She whimpered in frustration and began undoing the buttons of my shirt. She plunged her hands inside it, running across my stomach and chest. She ran her short nails tantalizingly down my torso, bringing up goose bumps all over my body. “Mmm… that’s a good girl,” I groaned, “touch your Master like a needy little slut.” She planted kisses all over my chest and abdomen, occasionally tonguing a scar in a particularly filthy sort of way. She wrapped her arms around my waist, digging her nails aggressively into the skin of my back.

Then, amazingly, she placed her perfect little lips over my nipple, sucking and nibbling on it gently. I let out an enormous moan, clutching her to me and nearly humping her like an animal. Thrilled by my response, she dug her nails in harder and moved to my other nipple, biting and sucking on it aggressively. “Oh! Fuck! Hermione!” I nearly sobbed, tossing my head back and struggling to breathe.

Then her hand was on my crotch, grabbing my swollen cock through my pants. She squeezed and rubbed it inexpertly as I bucked against her hand in a haze of arousal. She was kissing and sucking on my abdomen frantically, leaving love bites in her wake. Her ministrations, though random and unpracticed, had nearly brought me orgasm already. I pulled her up roughly by the hair, pressing my scorching lips unthinkingly to her own.

Electricity crackled painfully between us, but the distance from the castle seemed to have lessened it somewhat. In our advanced states of arousal, the sting hardly registered in our minds. I assaulted her mouth with my tongue, relishing her scorching hot deliciousness. Our kiss was unskilled and ungainly, an expression of pure animal need. Her taste was ethereally sweet, but also darkly intoxicating. I wanted my cock between those plump, swollen lips more than I wanted oxygen.

She began to explore my own mouth with her tongue, probing sweetly and gingerly. Her pure, unadulterated innocence was palpable. I came suddenly, unable to hold back anymore. I let out a feral growl into her mouth, biting her lower lip aggressively as the final few spurts exploded out of me.

I vanished the evidence wandlessly and silently, giving Hermione a final, exceedingly tender kiss on the forehead before hugging her passionately to my chest. She squeezed me back just as roughly, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

“I hope that convinced you that I’ve not been scared off,” she teased, looking up at me with fire blazing behind her eyes. “Oh, I think I’ve been convinced,” I murmured languidly, placing a series of wet kisses up and down her throat.

I had both hands firmly gripping her ass, and I slid my leg gently between her jean-clad thighs. Using my perfect little handholds, I slowly but deliberately pushed her against my muscular thigh. She let out a little gasp as her clitoris rubbed against the inseam of her jeans. I pressed my leg against her more insistently, and she began to move. Slowly at first, then quickly building in pace. Her breaths came out in little gasps. Her eyes were firmly squeezed shut.

I whispered sensually in her ear, “Yes. That’s right. Rub that tiny wet pussy on me. Come for me, girl. I want your knickers soaked with your arousal. If I can’t make you come myself, I’m sure as hell going to watch you get yourself off on me. That’s it. Good girl… I know you’re embarrassed… Humping your professor’s leg like an insatiable slut. Dirty little girl. But you like the humiliation, don’t you? You just want to be used like my plaything, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she screamed out, tears streaming from her eyes, “Please!” She came then, with great, shuddering cries. Her entire body seemed to seize, clenching my thigh painfully between her own. She collapsed in my arms, weak and dizzy from exertion. I picked her up, cradling her easily in my arms.

She pulled my face to hers, honoring me with a dreamy open-mouthed kiss before jerking away with a grunt of frustration. The pain was significantly worse now that our senses weren’t deadened by rushing adrenaline.

I kissed her on the forehead and carried her outside. We’d managed to lose a couple of hours in the greenhouse; the moon had sunk below the tree-line. I carried her about half of the way back to the castle before she decided her legs had stopped shaking enough to hold her weight. We walked, somewhat awkwardly, with our arms wrapped tightly around each other. When we reached the open grounds, I cast a Disillusionment Charm on her, and we strolled the rest of the way to the castle hand-in-hand.

I tried to send her up to her dormitory, but she outright refused, simply turning away from me and heading down the dungeon stairs. Rolling my eyes, I trotted swiftly after her. She strolled into my bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and slid under the sheets. “Are those jeans going to be comfortable to sleep in?” I asked innocently. She laughed, rolling her eyes at my affected virtue. “Nope. But it's probably for the best that we remain fully clothed.”

I dug through my wardrobe, pulling out an old, too-small pair of black pajama pants and tossing them across the room at her. I went into the bathroom to change, and when I emerged she was propped up on the pillows, wearing my pants and an ancient tie-dyed Beatles t-shirt. “Glad you’re making yourself at home,” I drawled sarcastically, looking pointedly at the shirt. She rolled her eyes at me, saying, “I didn’t want to sleep in a bra and jumper. So sue me.”

I licked my lips predatorily and crawled across the enormous, king-sized to her. “Maybe you need to be punished for sticking your cute little nose where it doesn’t belong!” I growled, pulling the blankets off of her. She squealed, swatting at my hands playfully.

“You can’t just tell me you have no bra on and not expect me to have a look!” I cried, feigning an attempt a pulling her shirt up, but actually just tickling her mercilessly.

“No! No! I must preserve my innocence!” she screamed, thrashing around and trying to escape my onslaught.

We both lost it, rolling around on the bed, wrestling and laughing like giddy children. After a while we tired ourselves out, and I fell back against the pillows. She scooted over to lay her head on my chest, but I grabbed her by the hip and deftly pulled her on top of me. She grinned at me, wiggling around slightly to find a comfortable position. She pulled the covers over us then slid her arms tightly around my waist, burrowing her hands under my back. I placed one hand protectively on her waist; the other I buried deep in her riotous mane. Lulled by the soothing herbaceous scent of her hair and the weight of her body atop mine, I was asleep within minutes.


	32. Chapter 32

“Master Snape, if I ask you a question, do you promise not to tell anyone what I say?”

“That depends on a number of factors, Miss Granger,” I responded warily. It was quite late on the following Sunday evening. We’d produced quadruple batches of three different potions over the course of the day, and I was nearly falling asleep on my feet as we bottled and labeled our final brew.

“Well, it affects all of us. And it’s important to the war effort. But I’m not supposed to discuss it with anyone.”

Exasperated, I sighed, “Oh just go on then. I won’t tell anyone.”

“What is a horcrux?”

Bile rose in my throat at the sound of the abhorrent word on her lips. “Where did you hear that term, girl?!” I hissed dangerously.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you! Harry’s been sworn to secrecy! I only ask because I’ve spent nearly two dozen hours searching the restricted section, and I can’t find even a single mention. It’s so strange!”

“You won’t find anything in the library,” I responded darkly. “And let me guess who swore Harry to secrecy? Hmm… could it be our favorite manipulative sociopath Headmaster?” I spat.

Hermione looked scandalized at me describing Dumbledore in such a way. I realized that I’d carefully been avoiding even mentioning him the past few months. “This is what he does. His trade is secrets and lies. Only certain people can know certain things. It’s fucking ridiculous. Just tell me what’s going on, Hermione.” I held my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes exhaustedly.

“Ok… ok. So Harry’s been going to these special ‘lessons’ with Dumbledore. They’ve been watching old memories about You-Know-Who in the Pensieve. I guess the Headmaster wants Harry to understand Him better or something? I’m not really sure. But anyway, there was this memory of Professor Slughorn’s that had been altered somehow. And in the memory Tom Riddle asked him what a horcrux is. Harry is supposed to get the real memory from Slughorn somehow, but I just want to know what the heck a horcrux even is!”

I walked over to my bookcase, pulling a slim, blood-red volume from the top shelf. I flipped a couple pages, then handed the open book to her silently. She scanned the page rapidly, her expression becoming increasingly appalled with each passing second. She didn’t even finish the entry, just handed it back to me with a pale, nauseated expression on her face. “Oh,” she said lamely.

“Indeed.” I responded simply.

“So do you think Vol-, sorry, You-Know-Who made one of those?!” she asked with disgust coloring her voice.

“I don’t imagine Dumbledore would be focusing Potter’s efforts on retrieving the memory unless he had good reason to believe the Dark Lord has horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes? You think he made more than one?!”

“Oh, certainly. The Dark Lord has never been one to put all his eggs in one basket. Almost literally, in this case,” I joked wryly.

“I have to tell Harry about this!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

“What do you mean?” She protested, “He has to know!”

“He will. In time. I tried to teach Potter Occlumency, remember? That boy has the worst poker face known to wizardkind. I don’t trust him to hide this knowledge from Dumbledore. Just make him concentrate on getting that memory from Slughorn.”

“Yeah, I know. We thought it was going to be so easy! Slughorn loves Harry. He’s always bragging about what a potions genius he is…”

I choked out a laugh, interrupting her mid-sentence, “Potter?! A potions genius?!”

“Yes! It makes me so mad! He found this potions book with all this writing in, and he never lets me look at it! But he does what it tells him, and he makes amazing potions every time…” A look of dawning recognition appeared on her face.

“ **WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY???** ”

“ **OH MY GODS!!! HOW DID I NOT RECOGNIZE YOUR HANDWRITING?!! IT’S CHANGED A BIT OVER THE YEARS, BUT IT’S SO OBVIOUS NOW!! I’M SO STUPID!!!** ” She was pacing back and forth, pulling on her hair furiously.

“You need to get that book. Now. It’s unspeakably dangerous.” I told her calmly, desperately trying to keep a lid on my temper.

“How?! He never lets it out of his sight! He’s obsessed with it!”

“Gods, this is the worst possible fucking scenario…” I looked at her seriously. “There is very dark magic in that book. Curses I invented. Horrible things. You have to get it.”

“If you created them, they can’t be that bad!”

I cut her off with a deranged, mocking laugh. “You have no fucking idea, little girl. You know that scar you have on your chest? From the battle at the ministry last year? You have me to thank for that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, lip quivering.

“I invented that Slicing Hex that slashed you open. ‘Sectumsempra’. Gods, I was so proud of that one…” I shook my head shamefully. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you before you can get it through your head. I’m not a good man, Hermione. I’m a despicable, disgusting, rotten excuse for a human being.”

Desolate tears were spilling from her eyes, but she reached out to embrace me. I pushed her away, turning my back and storming across the lab.

She dashed after me, grabbing the back of my waistcoat and forcing me to stop. She wrapped her arms around me from behind. She hugged me almost painfully tight around the ribs, and her voice was muffled against my back, “You’re none of those things, Severus. Maybe you were when you wrote that book, but you’re different now. You changed. Even if you’re not a good man, you do good things. And that’s all any of us can do, ok? We just try to do the right thing. You always try to do the right thing.”

“Gods, Hermione, you have such a twisted idea of who I am. Don’t you see? If I always tried to do the right thing, you and I wouldn’t be… We wouldn’t be doing any of this…” I waved my arm around vaguely.

“Who’s to say it’s not the right thing?! A hundred years ago- less than that, really- I’d already be married with kids by now! And you know that wizarding society is way more accepting of age differences than muggles… When you live to be well over 120 years old, and the community is so small, your options are limited!”

“You think I don’t know all this? You think I haven’t said those things to myself a million times to try and convince myself that I’m not doing something wrong?” I asked dejectedly.

“You’re not doing anything wrong! I haven’t been coerced for fuck’s sake! I haven’t been assaulted! I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions! And I’m getting really sick of you acting like this is sordid and wrong! How do you think that makes me feel?! Like I’m this perverted, dirty little secret you have! Like I don’t mean anything to you!!!” she shrieked, crying rather hysterically now.

I turned around and held her bracingly by the upper arms. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I never meant to belittle you. I certainly never wanted to make you feel like I’m ashamed of you. Quite the opposite.” I cupped her face gently in my palms, wiping her tears away with my thumbs. I looked deeply into her red, puffy eyes. “You are my one spot of light in the spiraling darkness. You could never understand how much you mean to me. I was a dead man. You brought me back to life, girl.”

She smiled at me shyly, placing a sweet, lingering kiss on my cheek. I kissed her forehead and pulled her into a long, bittersweet embrace. “Sneak into his room tomorrow night after he’s asleep and steal the book. Bring it to me. I’ll fix it, and you can return it before he wakes up.” She nodded against my chest, replying tenderly, “Yes, Sir.”


	33. Chapter 33

She arrived in my office well after 1AM on Sunday night. “Sorry, Professor,” she gasped, slightly out of breath, clearly having run most of the way from Gryffindor tower. She had special permission to be in the halls after hours due to her apprenticeship, but I was supposed to be accompanying her any time after midnight. “He wouldn’t go to bed! He and Ron were in this stupid Wizard Chess tournament with a bunch of other kids, and he refused to go to bed until Ron was disqualified. And of course the little bugger won!”

“Weasley is good at chess?” I asked, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

“Yeah. WAY better than me…” she admitted.

Shaking off this shocking piece of information, I held out my hand for the textbook. She dug around in her bag briefly then produced the old, battered copy of Advanced Potion Making. I took it from her, handling it delicately as if it were a dangerous ancient relic. I flipped open the cover, scoffing at the inscription. “What does Half-Blood Prince mean?” Hermione inquired curiously.

“My mother’s surname was Prince. My father was a muggle. So I came up with the title of Half-Blood Prince in an attempt to lend an air of mystery to myself. Ridiculous,” I scoffed.

“I never knew your father was a muggle,” she commented.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I spat rudely. Realizing my mistake, I backtracked. “Sorry. I’m just used to being mocked when someone discovers my parentage. Yes, Tobias Snape was a muggle. And he resented my mother and I immensely for our powers. He felt a constant need to, ahem, assert his authority as a result. He stopped hitting me after my second year at Hogwarts, once I started threatening to jinx his bollocks off if he touched me. My mother mostly refused to use her powers against him, though. She forsook magic altogether after he broke her wand in a drunken fit of rage when I was fifteen. She never bought a new one in the hopes that their marital problems would abate. Of course they didn’t, but she had been left defenseless. He killed her in a drunken rage the spring of my seventh year, then hung himself.”

Hermione’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, and her face was suffused with compassion. “Oh, Severus…” she whispered, reaching for my hand. I shook her off, staring straight over her head with steely resolve. “It matters not. What’s done is done. My mother neglected me. She sat idly by, allowing that man to terrorize us for seventeen years. In the end, she wouldn’t even summon wandless magic to defend herself. She was weak, and the weak perish.”

“I know you don’t mean that,” she whispered sympathetically, “That’s just what you tell yourself to try to not feel anything. And that’s ok. I understand. I won’t judge you for it.” She forced me into an embrace then, her arms around my waist tight as a steel trap. “No man as kind-hearted and valiant as you could hate his mom. It’s just not in you.”

I allowed her to hold me for a few minutes, resolutely ignoring the things she’d said. Eventually, I pried her off of me and sent her to my quarters. “Go get some sleep. This is going to take a few hours.”

I sat down at my desk with the text and my wand. I went through it fastidiously, page by page, magically transforming a word here or there. I’d change the name of a potion ingredient, the size the ingredient should be cut, or the order they should be added. I removed all of my invented curses, replacing them with nonsense words. I completely erased some of my notes where I’d been brainstorming ways to exact revenge on the Marauders.

After nearly three hours of labor, I was confident the book was completely useless. I had left enough real information that he wouldn’t suspect anything had been tampered with. But his potions would start to get worse, occasionally exploding, but mostly just being slightly sub-par. I hoped desperately that he’d start to assume that he’d just gotten lucky for a few months, and would eventually go back to using the book’s official instructions.

After a careful second read-through to make sure I didn’t miss anything dangerous, I closed it with an exhausted sigh. Reliving my youth through the pages of that book had been bizarre. The handwriting was familiar, but the words seemed as if they’d been written by a stranger. _Had I ever been that naïve? Did I really believe dark magic would be the answer to all my problems? Like if I just cursed Potter and Black enough times Lily would magically realize she loved me? Utterly ridiculous. How can it be that Hermione is the same age now as I was when I wrote all of that? She’s so mature, so giving, so incredibly kind and brave. And I was a villain._

Feeling exceedingly lucky that she hadn’t known me back then, I slumped tiredly into my bedroom. She was curled up in my bed, fast asleep. I stared at her for an embarrassingly long time, marveling at my extraordinary luck. She was so incredibly beautiful in repose. The near-ubiquitous line of concentration between her brows had smoothed, lending a more serene visage than usual. A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips, making me hope she was dreaming about me.

I woke her with a kiss on the forehead, and she opened her eyes with a huge smile. “Hi,” she whispered, sitting up and stretching. I gave her a little half-smile and said, “Hi back.”

“Is it done then?” she inquired.

“Yes, I believe the book is nearly useless now,” I confirmed.

“Excellent. Harry making better marks than me in potions was eating me alive!” she joked. “I guess I need to sneak it back upstairs into his room then?”

“Indeed. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I can’t imagine what sort of awful things could have transpired if we hadn’t fixed it. Gods, he could have killed someone. That boy’s skillset certainly does not include anger management. I know you probably feel guilty about breaking Potter’s confidence, but trust me when I say this is for the best.”

“I will always trust you.” She hopped out of bed and gave me a tight hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m also going to miss you tonight,” she said shyly, “I sleep so much better in your bed.”

“I’m completely exhausted, but I’ll lay here for the next hour before I can finally sleep. When you’re here, I’m practically asleep before my head hits the pillow,” I admitted gruffly, avoiding eye contact. _Gods, when did I get so fucking open about my feelings?_

She gave me a luminous grin, embracing me again, but for much longer this time. When she finally left me, it felt as if a large portion of my stomach had gone with her. Dejected and lonely, I smoked bowl after bowl until I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.


	34. Chapter 34

When I found out about the twofold poisonings on Weasley’s birthday, I was fit to be tied. I spent what felt like hours screaming at Draco, berating him for his carelessness and stupidity. Naturally, he was utterly dismissive of me. I tried to remind him that he couldn’t fulfill the Dark Lord’s task if he got himself expelled, but he, of course, ignored everything I said.

I wondered if he were intentionally choosing to do the most ridiculous, convoluted assassination attempts on purpose. I couldn’t imagine that this boy I’d known for literally his entire life had it in him to commit murder. He talked a big talk, but he’d always just hidden behind those oafs Crabbe and Goyle. Really, he was nothing but an over-sensitive, spoiled little boy. He was a prat, but he wasn’t a murderer.

I felt extraordinarily relieved I had left that note about the bezoar in my old copy of Advanced Potion Making. I made myself an anxious mess obsessing about everything that could have gone wrong. _Gods, Weasley would have died. I should have been watching Draco more carefully. If that boy had died, it would have been my fault. No one would have known, but ultimately I would be the one to blame. Draco is too stupid, too naïve to be given such a task. The Dark Lord clearly intends for him to fail. I have no choice but to kill Dumbledore myself. I have to murder the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had... The person who made me believe that I could do better. That I could be better._

Hermione was in the hospital wing with her pet dunderheads, so I spent the evening with Ogden. I was over three-quarters of the way through the bottle and totally trashed by 10pm. I had skipped dinner, too furious to eat. I was ruminating glumly on Dumbledore when I stood up from my desk and accidently banged my knee. Tears of pain sprang to my eyes, and as they trickled down my cheek, something inside of me snapped.

All of a sudden, the entire world was crashing down around me. Tears began pouring down my face. I let out an otherworldly sound, falling to my knees in despair. My chest felt like an over-inflated balloon, and I was convinced that my heart was being crushed to death. I gasped for breath as my throat started to close. I desperately sucked wisps of air through my collapsed trachea.

I was on all fours, making horrible wheezing noises, when the wall dissolved. When Hermione saw me on the floor she sprinted over. “Severus!” she cried, lifting my chin to look up at her. She assessed my state immediately. She grabbed my shoulders, pulling me backwards into a sitting position. She pressed on my spine, thrusting my chest outward. “Inhale from your diaphragm. Let your throat relax. Let your lungs stretch. Good… good,” she commanded, assertively yet soothingly.

Over the next few minutes I felt my throat gradually open back up, and my first real lung-full of air was like heaven. But then Hermione gently took my face in her hands and asked me what had happened. I burst into uncontrollable sobs, grasping at the front of her robes desperately from my seat on the floor. She stood above me, holding my head to her stomach, stroking my hair and making calming sounds. I cried like I hadn’t since I was a small child, taking enormous, shuddering breaths between hysterical wails of misery. This went on far longer than I’d like to admit, and by the time I quieted, I was nearly delirious with emotional exhaustion.

She helped me to my feet, and supported nearly all of my weight as she guided me slowly into my bedroom. She stripped me to my underwear and pulled the sheets down for me. I just stared at the bed balefully until she gave me a little shove and commanded me to lay down. I watched distantly as she removed her school robes, leaving just a tank-top and tights. She climbed into bed next to me and pulled me close. She settled my head on her chest, kissing my hair affectionately. At the touch of her lips, tears began leaking from my eyes again.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Hermione. What am I going to do without you?” I mumbled drunkenly.

“Hush. You’re never going to be without me. Never.”

She hummed to me soothingly, caressing my hair and face, until I finally calmed enough to fall into a troubled slumber.


	35. Chapter 35

When I woke the next morning Hermione was already up and about. She saw me stirring and brought a cup of coffee she’d made from the kitchenette. She had added a tiny bit of sugar even though she knew I drank it black. I almost complained, but it actually tasted way better her way, so I held my tongue.

She sat on the bed beside me, and we discussed Weasley briefly. I was beyond relieved to hear he was going to be perfectly fine. She amused me by recounting Lavender Brown’s freak-out when she saw Hermione at his bedside. “Yeah, Ron just pretended to be asleep even though we’d all been talking and laughing literally seconds before. Her face got all red and splotchy when she saw that I was holding his hand! I guess she thinks I’m like, in love with him for some reason. I don’t know why. I used to think he had a crush on me, but we’ve always just been friends. But gods, she was SO mad!! I’m pretty sure if Harry wasn’t there she’d have cursed me!”

“So you don’t have any feelings for him?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Ugh, gross! Of course not! He’s my BROTHER. He’s really funny and a loyal friend and all, but he is literally the most immature person I’ve ever met in my life. He’s pretty much the textbook definition of a mama’s boy. Not to mention he’s dumb as a brick. You would not BELIEVE the grammatical errors I find in his essays. He still doesn’t even know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’!”

I schooled my face, carefully avoiding the look of triumph that tried to spring to life. But she knew me too well, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Sir. You’re a man. The most complex, intelligent, sensitive, and powerful man I’ve ever met. No one holds a candle to you.” Joy and pride flared in my chest. I barely avoiding breaking into a huge smile at her praises. I merely grunted and avoided eye contact.

After a long moment of silence, she took me by the chin and forced me to look at her. “Now, do you want to tell me what last night was about?”

I knew this moment was coming, but it didn’t make the feeling of dread any less awful when she asked. “No,” I responded simply and coldly.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m willing to bet that you haven’t cried like that in nearly 30 years. Clearly, something is very, very wrong. And if you think I’m leaving this room without finding out what it is, you’re completely daft.”

“You can’t know. It’s crucial to the war effort that it remain a secret.”

“Let me guess, Dumbledore is making you keep the secret?” she scoffed.

“Naturally.”

“Well, seeing as you forced me just last week to tell you about Harry’s book and his lessons with Dumbledore…”

“This is a completely different situation, girl. You can’t possibly begin to understand…”

She cut me off, exclaiming, “Don’t you do that, Severus Snape! Don’t you dare treat me like a child! We are way past that point now, ok? I know you like to think of yourself as this tragic, lone-wolf type, but that’s not the case anymore! I’m here. I’m right fucking here! **We’re a team**. You’re not alone anymore.”

Choking up slightly, I shook my head and replied, “I can’t.”

“I swear to Merlin if you don’t tell me right now I will turn you into a fruit bat!!!”

Lacking the energy to argue any more, I simply looked into her eyes and gestured vaguely at my head. Catching my meaning, she took her wand in hand and whispered, “Legilimens…”

I barely occluded, simply feeding her the scenes she needed to see. She watched me battling the curse from the ring for hours, managing to temporarily restrain the dark power within his hand. She viewed Draco’s initiation as a Death Eater, and my subsequent unbreakable vow to his mother. She saw my numerous arguments with Dumbledore about the injustice of him giving me such a despicable task. She read the letter from Lucius, offering information about her parents in return for protecting Draco from both sides of the war.

When she backed out my mind and my vision returned, I saw that her face had hardened into a mask of wrath. I expected her to be bawling hysterically, distraught that I’d have to murder her beloved headmaster. “This. Is. Complete. Bullshit,” she ground out. “He can’t force you to do that! What about your future? What about your fucking soul?! There’s no reason that this has to be kept a secret from the rest of the Order! They can all see the damned curse in his hand! It’s not right for him to ruin your reputation, ruin your entire fucking future, when you’ve done nothing but serve him loyally for half your life! When this war is over, the wizarding world should worship you as a bloody hero! And he’s ruining everything!!!” she screamed furiously. “If he’s so unafraid of death, why doesn’t he just commit suicide?! He’d save your and Draco’s souls while still getting what he wants!”

I was incredibly warmed by her passionate outburst on my behalf, but I responded dejectedly, “There’s no other way, Hermione. This is how it has to be. You need to start getting used to the idea. Soon I will be a full-time Death Eater again.”

“Well I refuse to accept that.”

I exploded into a rage, “You don’t have the option, little girl! I’m going to be the killer of the most beloved Hogwarts Headmaster in centuries! I’m going to destroy the only person who ever believed there was good inside of me! I will go back to serving the Dark Lord’s every whim! I’ll be the monster again, and you’ll be the Gryffindor princess! You should just run up to the hospital wing right now and stick your tongue down Weasley’s throat! We both know that’s your true destiny... To live happily ever after, supporting Weasley with your influential ministry position while he stays home with your little ginger babies…”

“If you really believe that tripe you’re spouting, then you’re not nearly as intelligent as I thought!” she spat. “When have I EVER given you the impression that I prefer to take the easy way out?!”

“Oh, please! Every female professor has been predicting you and Weasley would end up together since you were first years! Opposites attract, and all that…”

She let out a mocking laugh, sounding slightly hysterical. “What, did you think that they’d predict I would fall for a professor?!”

“Of course not, you quarrelsome little swot! No one could have foretold such a thing! You’re simply the victim of temporary insanity, and one of these days you’re going to wake up, horrified with what you’ve done! I know when you’re young, it’s easy to get caught up…”

She interrupted me forcefully, “Stop that right now!! Stop talking down to me! Just because I’m younger than you, doesn’t mean I can’t make decisions for myself! I’m so fucking sick of you acting like you’ve forced me into this! I’m here because I want to be! I’m here because I need you! I fucking crave you, do you understand?!”

I glared at her fiercely, taking in the determined set of her jaw, the dark fire burning behind her eyes. Suddenly, she was on top of me. My coffee mug flew out of my hand, clattering loudly across the wood floor. She ripped the covers off my nearly nude body. She grinned at me with a dangerous glint in her eyes. She straddled my hips and ran her fingernails, none too lightly, down my scarred chest and stomach. I swelled immediately, desperate for the two thin layers of fabric separating us to disappear.

She ground her hips into mine as she, with surprising crudeness, ran her tongue the length of my mutilated torso, from navel to nipple. I groaned enormously, grabbing her hips and pressing her yet-harder against my throbbing erection. She laid across me, biting and sucking my neck aggressively. I desperately wanted her shirt gone so that I could feel her skin on my own. As if reading my mind, she ripped off her tank-top and tossed it across the room.

She was wearing the tiniest bra I’d ever seen, hardly more than two scraps of pink lace. It was stretchy and unlined, so her tantalizingly erect nipples were on full display. She pressed her torso against my own, placing frantic kisses up and down my throat. Her skin was impossibly soft and burning hot to the touch. I shoved my hand roughly between our bodies and readjusted my cock in my underwear, laying it flat against my pelvis so that she could feel it against her. I continued to grind against her rhythmically, grasping her tightly by her narrow hips.

Her movements became more erratic, rubbing against me almost painfully. Suddenly, she bit down on the juncture of my neck and shoulder, muffling a high-pitched yelp. She came against me, shudderingly, making the most alluring little gasps I’d ever heard. She tried to slow, but I held her forcefully against me. Within seconds, the sounds of her orgasm brought my own along with it.

She felt so indescribably delicious against me; her nubile body was the most glorious thing I’d ever experienced. I held her tightly, desperately, hungrily to me. “Hermione…” I groaned. She let out a little huff of laughter, wrapping her arms around my neck and nuzzling my shoulder. “I didn’t even know I could come from frottage,” I said gruffly.

The sensation of her body quaking with mirth against mine made my cock start to swell again. “Go on. You need to get some clothes on before before you give this old man a heart attack,” I said, slapping her gently on her tights-clad bottom. She squealed and leapt off of me, giggling girlishly.

We dressed reluctantly, watching each other from either side of the room. She poured me a new cup of coffee, and we proceeded into the laboratory. “Well, we finally have an actual focus for our muggle studies research project now,” she joked dryly. We only had a half-dozen books left to read from the 200+ we’d taken out of her house. We hadn’t read them all cover-to-cover, but I was truly impressed by the sheer volume of text we could shovel through in a short period of time. I truly had found my perfect research partner.

“Indeed. If you really insist on being a part of all this, your help would be absolutely invaluable.”

She glowed at my compliment, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “We’re going to figure this out, Sir. We will find a loophole. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”


	36. Chapter 36

“We need to do something about Draco and Harry,” Hermione declared a few weeks later as we were cleaning up from a marathon brewing session. “Harry is obsessed with what he’s doing all the time. He’s literally stalking him. He’s completely convinced that Draco is a Death Eater, and nothing I say can persuade him otherwise.”

“Well, I’m so surprised you could knock me over with a feather. Potter being perceptive for once? Who ever heard of such a thing?” I remarked sarcastically.

“Professor, this is serious! You’ve been in this sullen mood for weeks- with good reason- but you need to get over it now.”

I raised my eyebrow dangerously. “Excuse me?” I hissed.

“Harry has house elves tailing Malfoy now!”

“He what?” I asked, too shocked to remember I was angry at her.

“Yes! After he was sent to the hospital wing from that oaf McLaggen nearly killing him in the Quidditch match!”

“Don’t utter that scum’s name in my presence!” I hissed disgustedly.

She rolled her eyes impatiently. “That’s not the point! Those stupid boys are going to end up maiming each other if we don’t intercede!”

“What could we possibly do? They’re teenage boys. They’re naught but spotty little bags of hormones and rage,” I scoffed.

She let out an incoherent noise of frustration. “I’m sick of this! I’m so over it! If you’re not going to do anything to help yourself, then I’m just going to do it my way!” She yanked her bag from her chair, threw it over her shoulder with a huff, and stormed out of the laboratory.

I sighed and shrugged resignedly, grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey and slumping in my armchair by the fireplace. I proceeded to get gloomily wasted, staring at the flames and pondering my inevitable bloody fate. About an hour and a half after Hermione stormed out, my laboratory wall dissolved again. I refused to look over, childishly ignoring her. Suddenly, a loud Scottish brogue rattled me, “Severus Tobias Snape, get your skinny arse out of that chair right now!”

Startled, I leapt to my feet and did a double-take. Though Minerva was one of the few who knew the location of my laboratory, I could count on one hand the number of times she’d been inside of it. “Get the hell out of my lab!” I shouted, trying to sound menacing. She just rolled her eyes at me, strode over, and grabbed me by the collar of my waistcoat.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Severus! I’ve known you since you were a scrawny little twig of a boy! You know damn well you’re not going to intimidate me,” she scoffed. “Now, do you want to tell me why you didn’t come to me for help with this problem?! Did you forget that I’m a member of the Order? That I’m deputy headmistress? That I’m your _friend_?” I looked up at her, surprised at the sentiment.

She continued, “You’re not the only one who’s noticed a decline in the Headmaster’s mental capabilities this year, by the way. He’s becoming increasingly scattered; a lot of the professors have been questioning many of his decisions in the past few months. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t suspected that Draco had taken the Dark Mark. He was never a particularly happy child, but he has clearly gone into decline this year.”

“Exactly how much do you know?” I choked out in shock.

“I told her everything: Dumbledore trying to make you kill him, Draco becoming a Death Eater, your Unbreakable Vow, Harry being determined to catch Draco in the act, our research into muggle technology,” Hermione confessed, giving me a significant look that said, ‘Don’t worry, our secret is safe.’

“And what exactly gave you the impression that it was your bloody right to go around spouting my business to everyone?!” I roared.

“Quit that right this instant!” Minerva snapped, “Miss Granger has done you a great service. In fact, she’s probably single-handedly saved your life! Now that I know what’s going on, I can help you, you silly bugger! I’m so sick of you MEN and your PRIDE and your SECRETS! This war could have been over twenty years ago if people would just bloody **communicate**!”

I simply gaped at her, stunned by her uncharacteristic outburst. “So I’m going to place a castle-wide watch order on Master Potter, and I expect you to do the same for Master Malfoy. We want every portrait, every statue, every house-elf and ghost, watching those boys every damn second of the day. If conflict erupts, we need to be able to get there immediately and save them from themselves. Draco has made a very regrettable choice, but you are proof positive that it’s not an irreversible one. He’s my student, my responsibility. I don’t believe he’s beyond redemption, and I’m going to try my damnedest to protect him. I expect the same from you.”

I nodded mutely in acquiescence. She patted me, firmly but affectionately, on the cheek. “We will discuss this further in the near future. For now, get some rest. You look like shite,” she joked drily, giving me a small wink.

She nodded in a motherly type of way at Hermione, “Miss Granger, thank you for bringing this to my attention. You did the right thing. Don’t let him berate you too much.”

Hermione and I stood in silence for a few long minutes after Minerva left. I was having trouble deciding what exactly I was feeling. I was beyond livid at her for betraying my confidence. But she had done it because she cared. Because she wanted to save my soul. How could I be mad at that? But I was so full of adrenaline that I couldn’t think straight.

I strode over and stared down my nose imperiously at her. “Well, Miss Granger,” I sneered, “You’ve been quite the naughty girl, haven’t you?”

She looked up at me with large, unbelievably sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Master Snape, but I had to.”

“You will be sorry,” I hissed. I grabbed her by the hair, dragging her over towards the couch. I sat down, pulling her along with me. I laid her across my legs, facedown, so that her delicious little ass was right in my lap. I yanked her robes up, exposing her bare legs and underwear. Her panties were these adorable little white cotton boy shorts with pink polka dots. Licking my lips hungrily, I lightly stroked my fingertips up and down the backs of her slim, creamy thighs. She sighed, wiggling against my erection appealingly.

I brought my hand down, quite suddenly, when she was least expecting it. She shrieked, nearly falling off the couch as I spanked her. I held her down with one arm, whaling viciously on her ass with the other. She screamed and cried, and the sensation of her struggling against me almost made me climax instantly. After a few minutes of assault, I began squeezing and caressing her delectable rump instead. She gasped, pressing lewdly against my throbbing cock.

I had a sudden burst of inspiration. I pulled her up into a sitting position, facing forward in my lap, with her back against my chest. “Take off your underwear and give them to me,” I whispered in her ear. She complied, passing them over her shoulder. I inhaled their scent hungrily, groaning with desperation. I used my knees to spread her legs wide, and I pulled her robes up to her waist. I took her hand in my own, guiding it between her legs. She began to gently stroke herself before I could even command her to do so.

I watched over her shoulder as she gingerly fondled herself, making little sighs of pleasure. From my angle, I couldn’t see very much, but the sensation of her ass grinding against my cock more than made up for it. I could see that she was nearly hairless, possessing just a small patch of blonde curls on her pubis. “That’s a good girl,” I murmured quietly, my face buried in her riotous mane. “Touch yourself for your Master. That’s what I like to see. Do you do this in your bed at night?”

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped out.

“You touch yourself with all those other girls sleeping around you? What a naughty little minx. Do you think about me? Do you think about my big, scary cock?”

“Oh, gods, yes!” she groaned, beginning to buck wildly in my lap.

“Do you want my monster inside you, tearing your delicate virgin pussy to shreds?” I growled.

“Yes, Master Snape, I do! Gods, I do!”

“Put your fingers inside your cunt right now!” I commanded, and she complied immediately, shoving two fingers inside her tight little hole. “That’s right. Fuck yourself like a nasty slut. Don’t neglect that clit, now,” I purred. She was completely wild now, going at herself frantically with both hands.

“Good girl. That’s a good girl,” I groaned, nearing completion from her frenzied movements on my lap and the glorious sights and sounds she was providing me.

“Oh, fuck yeah, you fucking slut. You’re such a good little girl. Fuck yourself for me. Oh, GODS!” I came violently, completely soaking the front of my trousers.

“Do you feel my come smearing all over your ass?” I asked obscenely. “You did that to me, you dirty girl. Do you like making me lose control? Do you get off on seducing men twice your age? Do you want to be fucked by a big, strong man?”

“No!” she groaned laboriously, “No… just you. It was always… you…” She came then in a glorious, rushing torrent of noise. I could definitely decipher my name amongst the shrieks and groans, along with a lot of nonsense syllables and curse words. Her orgasm just went on and on. Right when I thought she was settling down, her thighs would clench again with another wave of pleasure.

When she finally collapsed against me, she was clammy with sweat. I brushed her hair out of the way, placing a trail of kisses down her damp throat.

After taking a minute to catch her breath, she awkwardly clambered over me, turning around and straddling my lap. She placed a hand behind my head, pulling me towards her. Then she was kissing me, needfully exploring my mouth with her tongue. Sharp pain flared between us, making my eyes water. But she tightened her hold on my hair, forcing us to stay together.

I pushed through the searing agony, desperate for that connection with her. It was the most aggressive kiss of my life; I made a low growling noise in my throat as I bit her bottom lip and pulled viciously. She probed my mouth deeply, desperately. We broke apart after a minute, delirious with pain. My ears were ringing deafeningly, and I felt as if I might vomit any second. She held her head in her hands, clearly experiencing a similar effect. She gave me a tiny smile, quirking the corner of her mouth in a rather Snape-like fashion. “Totally worth it,” she whispered.


	37. Chapter 37

As instructed by Minerva, I placed a castle-wide watch on Draco. I now had reports streaming in at all hours of the day and night. As a result, Hermione and I had to start conducting ourselves very carefully. The risk of our affair being discovered had multiplied a thousand-fold. There was no telling when a ghost would pop through the wall, informing me that Draco was, once again, ensconced in the Room of Requirement.

The boy was getting into petty arguments at all hours, forcing me to sprint across the castle in case I needed to break up a fight. _For fuck’s sake, children having magic sure does make this whole professor thing way more difficult than it should be. It takes a hell of a lot more effort for a muggle kid to murder their classmate just because they didn’t like the way they looked at them one day._

As a result of this, Hermione had enacted a strict no-touching policy. I honestly did make an effort, but it was unbelievably difficult. My mind replayed our dalliances over and over again like a broken record. Frequently I imagined I could still feel her hand squeezing me through my trousers, her perfectly muscular ass seizing up under my assault, the heat of her soaking wet cunt against my underwear-clad cock. I could barely keep my hands to myself.

I would lightly run my fingers across her bottom when I squeezed past her, reach out and take her hand when she was sitting next to me on the couch, or come up behind her as she hunched over a cauldron, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her aromatic mane. She would scold me every time, but was seriously lacking in sternness. I noticed that she seemed to be occluding herself pretty much constantly.

Meanwhile, I had a lot of trouble caring whether I got sacked or not. Some days it seemed like she was the only thing keeping me at Hogwarts. I was of a dual mind; I was simultaneously convinced that I was going to die any day now, while also finding myself fantasizing about life after the war, after her graduation. Would she still want anything to do with me once she was outside of these insular walls? Was her attraction to me just some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome?

_Once she sees that she has so many options- more attractive, wealthier, younger men than myself- she’s going to completely lose interest. I’m just the only thing around right now. And when I’m not the angsty, dangerous spy anymore I’ll completely lose all sense of mystery and intrigue..._

But regardless of my ever-present negative internal monologue, a tiny voice in the corner of my mind had somehow become a total romantic. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to really BE with her. I was stunned to realize that I would marry her the next damn day if given the option. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that she was the one for me. Lily had been gradually fading from my memory over the past 16 years, and Hermione had finally erased her completely. I realized that in comparison to what I felt for Hermione now, my infatuation with Lily had been nothing more than a childish obsession.

Lily and I never had anything in common, really, other than being from the same hometown. She was a Charms virtuoso; the showier the spell, the better, as far as she was concerned. She was never particularly bookish and cared little about her grades, though she possessed a massive amount of natural talent. She was always socializing and absolutely craved being the center of attention. She was a total flirt and spent literally hours every day on her hair and makeup.

But she was the first person who had ever been kind to me in my entire young life, so I imprinted on her like an ugly duckling. I convinced myself that she was the only person who was there for me, who really saw me, who really knew me. I never even entertained the idea of pursuing any other girl. It felt like an insult to everything she’d done for me.

But she was a pretty girl who wanted to date pretty boys. She wanted to sneak around- going to parties, getting drunk, and snogging in empty classrooms. She had no interest in long hours in the library and nighttime strolls around the lake with me. She had been an amazing, kind-hearted, beautiful person, there’s no doubt about that. But I had been too young and naïve to grasp just how innately incompatible we were. I spent my entire childhood trying to change myself, to be what I thought she wanted. But I could never be a boy like James Potter had been- effortlessly handsome, confident, funny, popular.

And then I wasted years mourning her, convincing myself that my life was over now that she was gone. I threw my twenties, which should have been the best of years of my life, straight into the rubbish bin. I had dozens of one night stands, refusing to allow myself to grow close to anyone. I turned into this bitter, loathsome monster who instantly despised a neglected little 11-year-old boy just because he resembled his father. Instead of embracing this last remaining piece of my first and best friend, I alienated and abused him.

But Hermione had brought me back to life. I no longer lived day-to-day, convinced that I could die at any time. I didn’t immediately fantasize about ways to kill myself every time I made a mistake. This war had been a Sword of Damocles over my head for half of my life. I never believed that I would survive it, so I didn’t even bother to think about the alternative. But now, I planned for the future. I wondered how much I could make from selling Spinner’s End, whether Hermione would rather live in a city or the country, if she was the type to get married, if I wanted kids, if she even wanted kids, if I wanted to be a professor anymore, if we could adopt a dog, and on and on…

All of these questions were utterly foreign to me. My state of mind had undergone such a radical shift in a few short weeks that I found myself with a constant sensation of disconnect. It was as if I were under the Imperious curse: like I was convinced I was making my own decisions, but they seemed bizarre when I looked at them more closely.

But I wasn’t Imperioused; I was in love. I was madly, obsessively, greedily in love. I wanted to hide her away, kissing her, making love to her, worshipping her, every minute of every day for the rest of my life. I wanted to keep her safe, away from the world, away from anyone who would ever think to harm her. I wanted to create life with her, the truest expression of my desire to be with her, to join with her, to become one with her. My future, once nothing more than a red curtain of inevitable doom, now stretched out before me, indistinct, but frightening in its exquisite beauty.


	38. Chapter 38

Hermione returned from her apparition test with a huge grin on her face. “I passed!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air in triumph. “Naturally…” I drawled, looking bored. She laughed at me, punching me affectionately on the upper arm. “Shut up! I was legitimately worried I would fail!”

“You’re always worried you will fail. And yet, miraculously, you have yet to fail a single damn thing in your entire young life,” I replied, sarcasm carefully obscuring my affection. “I am proud of you, though,” I muttered, quiet enough that she would question whether I’d actually spoken at all. She positively glowed, planting a kiss on my cheek.

“I also had a totally genius idea while I was waiting for my turn!”

“Oh really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, pressure and anxiety always make my brain go in totally crazy directions for some reason… But I think I figured out what we can do about Dumbledore!” she exclaimed, squeezing my hand excitedly. As she posed her plan, I was initially incredulous. But then she elaborated, explaining how we could use the best of both worlds- magic and muggle- to achieve our end-goal. Twenty minutes later, when she’d finally finished her monologue, I was speechless. I simply stared at her impassively for a long time as the cogs in my mind turned, processing what she’d proposed. It sounded far too outlandish, far too barbaric, far too obvious, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it could really work.

I got to my feet, pulling Hermione into my cloak. I wrapped her up tightly, kissing her fervently on the top of her head. “You are bloody incredible, girl. You are a goddamn fucking genius; do you know that?”

I could see the tips of her ears flushing beet-red, though her face was buried in my chest. “No I’m not…” she whispered, delight apparent in her voice.

“Yes. You are. You are the most brilliant, fascinating human being I’ve ever encountered. It’s completely unfair that someone as exquisitely beautiful as you could also be so frightfully intelligent. You could rule the entire fucking world if you wanted to,” I gushed, quite uncharacteristically.

She looked up at me then, face pleasurably pink, eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “I feel the same way about you, you know,” she whispered shyly. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. I didn’t know anyone was capable of such bravery, such selflessness.”

“Don’t fool yourself, girl,” I groaned. “I’ve made a lot of truly monstrous decisions. I’ve destroyed so many lives…”

She interrupted me, full of quiet passion, “No. Stop that. Yes, you’ve made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. The fact that you feel guilty about them- that you strive to atone for them- that’s what makes you a good man. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. I’ve seen what you’ve been through, what you go through…”

I laughed mockingly over her, “Hah! How do you know I don’t just secretly love being a Death Eater?”

“I know you better than that. I’ve been inside your head, remember? I felt your disgust, your impotent rage. I’ve felt the all-consuming guilt that clouds your mind every second of every day. And I’ve also felt your capacity for love…” she trailed off, looking down mournfully.

“You have to know… that memory in Dumbledore’s office… the girl I felt those things for… she’s gone. She’s been gone for a very long time. What I felt for her has no bearing on you. You’re so much more than she ever was…” I struggled to find words to express myself.

She gave me a watery little smile, saying, “It’s ok. I understand that she was the love of your life. It makes sense… switching sides to get revenge for the one you love… it’s dreadfully romantic.”

My chest was tight with empathy for Hermione. _If only I could express how I feel about her! How much more she means to me than Lily ever could!_ An idea occurred to me, and I grabbed Hermione’s hand, nearly dragging her out of the laboratory.

“Where are we going?” she asked, jogging along behind me, struggling to keep up with my much longer strides. “It’s nearly 9! We should be getting some work done since I was in Hogsmeade for the examination all day!”

I swept out of the castle, proceeding down the darkened grounds. Only the thinnest sliver of moon illuminated the sky, and wispy clouds obscured most of the stars. Hermione disillusioned herself, though it was hardly necessary. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?” she nagged.

“The gate is keyed to allow you egress from the grounds for the entirety of the day,” I explained. “We need to get out and back in by the time it locks at midnight.”

She giggled, “I feel like Cinderella!”

I rolled my eyes, urging her along faster. The gate swung open at our approach. As we crossed the threshold, I took Hermione’s small hand in mine and turned…

There was a sudden sensation of pressure, like the entire universe was attempting to squeeze the life out of me, but then we popped back into being on the street outside a ramshackle, greying old cottage. The grass was overgrown, the flowerbeds choked with thorny weeds. I opened the creaky wrought iron gate for her, gesturing in a mock gentlemanly fashion. She proceeded up the walk cautiously, peering up at the ominous house. I adjusted the wards as we walked up; her hair blew back in a sudden breeze as she passed through the powerful spells unharmed. She paused on the top step, looking up at me warily.

I moved ahead of her, the door swinging open at my wordless gesture. We proceeded through the small entryway, emerging into the living room. Every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases; even most of the windows had been hidden behind shelves. Enormous, toppling piles of books and periodicals littered the floor. A number of lowball glasses, stained with evaporated dregs of whiskey, were scattered over the coffee table. The couch was patterned with plaid, so old and worn that its color was no longer distinguishable. A pair of equally ancient floral armchairs flanked the tiny gas fireplace. A thin layer of dust and grime covered every visible surface.

She peered around warily, taking in the desolate squalor. A look of dawning comprehension overtook her face. “Ohh…” she breathed, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

“You’re the only girl I’ve allowed to see the inside of my home,” I said quietly. “I was too ashamed to ever bring her here. But I trust you, Hermione. I want you to know me, to understand me.”

She nodded silently, taking my hand reassuringly in her own. I took her into the tiny kitchen, the only part of the house that had been updated in the past 50 years. I had replaced the old linoleum countertops with butcher block. The cabinets I’d painted a rich, emerald green, adding modern brushed nickel knobs. The gas stove was a restaurant-grade stainless steel monstrosity that I’d dropped a pretty penny on. An actual muggle refrigerator hummed merrily in the corner. I even had a high-end microwave installed above the range. “Oh my…” she whispered, stroking the silky-soft wooden countertops with her free hand.

“I’m one of maybe a hundred wizards in Britain who have electricity in their homes. Interestingly, Lucius Malfoy is one of the others.” She gaped at me in shock. “Oh yes, the Malfoys are quite heavily invested in the muggle stock market, so he needs email and telephones to communicate with his fiduciaries and whatnot…” I remarked conversationally.

“You learn something new every day…” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Keeping her delicate fingers interlaced with my own, I guided her back into the living room. At the wave of my hand, a bookcase swung outward, revealing a narrow staircase. “I assume that didn’t come standard with the house?” she joked as we proceeded up the stairs. “Indeed…” I drawled wryly.

I indicated my parents’ old room on the left, dust-ridden and gloomy. I’d long ago destroyed all of their belongings, so it was completely bare. No sheets covered the stained old mattress, no curtains obscured the dirty windows. The dresser drawers hung open and empty. I closed the door wordlessly, wishing, as always, that I had the emotional fortitude to move into the larger, more comfortable bedroom.

I reluctantly pulled her into my diminutive room, flipping the light switch and closing the door behind us. She stared around raptly, clearly trying to absorb every detail. She immediately went to my inexpensive upright piano, running her hand along the highly-polished black lid. She examined my sizable collection of classic rock posters that papered the walls. Hermione seemed especially interested in the iconic Pink Floyd one that depicted their album artwork painted on women’s bare backs, as well as my Houses of the Holy poster.

Faded Slytherin scarves and ties were strung from the posts at the headboard of my narrow twin bed. A small number of abstract sketches I’d made hung on the wall above my corner desk. She admired my artwork, commenting on how disturbingly psychedelic they were and asking if she could take one. I shrugged, feigning indifference, but was beyond thrilled that she appreciated my unpracticed efforts.

She lowered herself onto my ancient green tartan bedspread, smiling at me warmly. I sat on the piano stool on the opposite side of the room, carefully keeping distance between us. “This is pretty much exactly how I imagined your boyhood bedroom would look,” she commented.

“I know it’s uncomfortably small,” I started to apologize, but she cut me off with a raised hand. “Stop. It’s not like I expected you to have a house like what my parents have. I know what kind of background you come from. That’s what makes you so impressive. To rise above a poverty-stricken, abusive childhood to become the greatest potions master Hogwarts has ever seen… That’s incredible. **You’re** incredible,” she asserted, eyes glimmering with passionate unshed tears.

I allowed myself a small smile, quickly turning away to hide my expression from her. I pushed back the keyboard cover, casting a needless dust-removal charm over the ivories. I plucked out a couple of scales, checking that everything was still in tune. I banged out a few chords, getting my fingers properly loosened up. I played a few random melodies as they sprang into my head, mostly ad-libbing.

After a few minutes, I found myself falling into the opening notes of an arrangement of “Wish You Were Here” for the solo piano. I crooned the lyrics mournfully, a key below David Gilmour’s original voice. My melodious basso profondo boomed around the tiny room; the air seemed to shimmer with the reverberations of the piano. No one could express alienation quite as poignantly as Pink Floyd, and my voice quavered with grief and existential despair.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Hermione had desolate tears running down her cheeks. She hugged her folded knees to her chest, gazing over at me unblinkingly. My voice ceased, and I slowly, painstakingly, plucked out the final notes of the piece. I held down the final chord, allowing the vibrations to ring out languorously, fading after a long, excruciatingly beautiful few seconds.

She pushed herself off the bed, hastily taking the four short steps across the room to me. She threw her arms around my neck, embracing me forcefully from behind. I felt her tears falling into my hair as she kissed me on top of the head.

Feeling a sudden boldness, I launched into the song that I had been secretly associating with her for months, “Madrigal” from Rush’s A Farewell to Kings album. As I picked out the simple melodies, my voice flowed forth with quiet, barely restrained passion,

When the dragons grow too mighty  
To slay with pen or sword  
I grow weary of the battle  
And the storm I walk towards

When all around is madness  
And there’s no safe port in view  
I long to turn my path homeward  
To stop a while with you

When life becomes as barren  
And as cold as winter skies  
There’s a beacon in the darkness  
In a distant pair of eyes

In vain to search for honor  
And in vain to search for truth  
But these things can still be given  
Your love has shown me proof.

The short song ended as sweetly and earnestly as it had begun. The air, now bereft of the piano’s vibrations, was thick with tension. I couldn’t bring myself to turn to face her, but kept my eyes cast down at my lap. My hands were carefully folded to disguise the nervous tremors that ran through them.

“Severus,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. At her insistent pressure on my shoulders, I turned around on my short stool and looked up at her. I was sure my eyes held naught but bare vulnerability in their black depths. She kissed me, quickly but with extreme fervor. I held my mind open to her, silently begging her to look into me, to see how powerfully I felt for her. But she continued to simply stare at me, her expression intractable, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“Severus,” she repeated, seeming to steel herself, “I need to say something to you. I know you won’t feel the same way, so I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it back, but I just can’t keep it inside anymore…” she rambled out hastily, but I interrupted her, rising to my feet and pulling her into a crushing kiss.

I pressed her face roughly to my own, grasping her by the base of her neck. Our tongues danced together, desperately, hungrily. I broke off our kiss, whispering, “You silly fucking girl, can’t you see how much I love you?” into her ear, burying my nose affectionately in her thick, fragrant mane. She let out a rough, choking laugh, “I love you too, you know… more than I ever imagined possible…”

We snogged like teenagers then, frantically grasping at each other’s clothing. We stumbled towards the bed, and then I was laying her down, climbing atop her, all without breaking our kiss for even a second. I sat up briefly, ripping my cloak awkwardly from my throat. I tossed it across the room, and Hermione reached for my waistcoat, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Her hands caught between us, scrabbling frantically at the buttons of my shirt, as I returned to invade her mouth aggressively with my tongue.

She spread her legs beneath me, and I nestled my hips between them, grinding my erection against her core. She moaned throatily, wrapping her calves around the backs of my legs. Her robes fell up around her hips, exposing her lithe, creamy-smooth thighs. I ran my calloused hands up her legs, reaching up under her robes and gripping her firmly around the waist. I ground against her yet harder- my hands undoubtedly digging painfully into her hipbones. I was sure I was crushing her with my body weight, but she continued to gasp delightfully beneath me.

She finally, miraculously, finished unbuttoning my shirt with her hands trapped clumsily between our bodies. She pushed up on my chest, forcing me back onto my knees. She tore the shirt and vest from my torso in one go, sleeves turning inside-out. She threw it onto the floor, then reached for the bottom hem of her robes. She wiggled inelegantly, working it up under her bottom, fighting the combined weights of our two bodies. She yanked it off over her head, not even bothering with the fasteners on the front.

I took a long moment to stare at her in admiration as she laid back on the pillow. She was wearing a matching set of bralette and panties in white, semi-sheer cotton. A pair of girlish, knee-high white socks and saddle shoes completed the enormously appealing visual. I growled in a rather animalistic fashion, laving her from the seam of her impossibly tiny underwear to the base of her elegant throat. I continued along her neck, finishing by running my tongue ever-so-lightly along the rim of her ear. Her entire body shuddered involuntarily, and she grasped handfuls of the sheets on either side of her.

Giving her a ghoulish grin, I gently tongued her tiny left nipple through the fabric of her bra. I swirled luxurious circles around it, and the fabric wetted accordingly. I pulled back, blowing gently on the moistened area. She gasped at the sudden coldness, arching her back alluringly, thrusting her chest upwards and into my face. I attacked her other breast, encouraged by her aggressive display. I nipped and sucked at it, soaking the temptingly thin fabric with saliva. I blew on her right nipple as well, making them a matching set of achingly erect little pink nubs, now perfectly visible through the wet fabric.

I was delirious with desire, unconsciously making low noises in the back of my throat. It was all I could to restrain myself from ripping down my trousers, yanking aside the crotch of her panties, and taking her immediately, thrusting mercilessly into her, heedless of her readiness. She pulled the stretchy bralette over her head, dropping it onto the floor beside us.

My lowered my dark, feral gaze to behold her in all her glory. Her small breasts were nearly invisible when she was lying flat on her back. She had adorably small, bright pink areolas surrounding her hard, puckered little nipples. I ran my lips affectionately along the thin, white scar that marred her otherwise pristine décolletage. I cupped her petite globes in my palms, and they didn’t even come close to filling my large hands. I buried my face in the crevice between them, kissing her sternum tenderly. I proceeded to shower her perfect chest with kisses, whispering, “You are the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, Hermione. You are so incredibly beautiful, so utterly flawless, so perfectly exquisite…”

She smiled down at me, murmuring, “I love you, Severus Snape.” My chest flared with a scorching heat, a joy I had never known myself capable of. I was feverishly elated, high on the sensation. I pressed my face into her stomach, unable to bear the poignant expression on her face. “I love you so much. I want to be with you every second of every day. When something good happens in my life, all I can think about is how I can’t wait to tell you. When I’m scared, I want to be safe in your arms. When I’m laughing, I want to share the joke with you. Those tiny moments when I can make you smile, make you laugh, are the highlight of my entire day. You’re everything to me, Sir. Everything…” she rambled, reaching down, desperately grasping at my shoulders with her soft hands.

I placed a long, lingering kiss on her navel, wrapping my hands protectively around the base of her ribcage. I then placed another, an inch lower, lingering, then continuing to move lower, lower…

Then I was kissing her soft blonde curls through the fabric of her panties, and she was pressing herself lewdly, unthinkingly, against my face. I continued my enticingly slow descent, placing another prolonged kiss against the top crease of her labia. I placed a final slow kiss roughly a half-inch lower, and she grabbed the back of my head, mashing my large nose rather painfully against her pubic bone. She rubbed herself obscenely against my mouth, shattering the final vestiges of my resolve.

I swiftly lowered my hands, pulling her underwear down her hips in a single smooth movement. I threw both her legs over one shoulder, deftly yanking the scrap of fabric over her calves and feet. I rubbed them thoughtfully between my thumb and forefinger, sneering vulgarly, “My, my these sure are soaked. What a naughty little girl you are, Miss Granger. Your virginal cunt is positively dripping for your dirty old professor.”

She huffed in frustration, staring up at me with a deliciously eager expression on her face. I placed each of her feet over my respective shoulders, spreading her legs wide open. I bent my head and gently nipped the inside of her thigh, eliciting a tiny yelp from her. Grinning, I placed my lips against her flawless skin, suckling aggressively, leaving a string of love bites marring the perfect smoothness. “Please!” she gasped out, reaching to pull my head towards her throbbing need.

I slipped off the bed, kneeling on the floor beside the mattress. I grabbed her by the hips, easily rotating her petite form closer to me. She was truly a sight to behold, legs spread, clad in nothing but knee socks and girlish trainers. She propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at me hungrily. I placed slow, luxurious kisses along her inner thigh, taking my time, torturing her, gradually making my way to her gorgeous center.

I placed my lips against her closed outer labia, and my first impression was of intense, scorching heat. I slipped my tongue between her lips, tasting her salty, musky sweetness. She was the most glorious thing I’d ever experienced, and I plunged into her aggressively, desperate to savor her.

I spread her small outer labia with two fingers, exposing her bright pink cunt to my view. She was swollen and glistening with desire, enflaming my passions with this incontrovertible proof of her need for me.

I took her little clitoris between my lips, suckling on it gently. I reached up, pinching and twisting her pebbled nipples. She tossed her head back, groaning deeply.

I sucked her clitoral hood roughly, pulling it farther between my lips, tonging the now-exposed bundle of raw nerves. I caressed her randomly, first this direction, then that, alternating between pushing on her forcefully, then barely tweaking her with the tip of my tongue. She pulled on my hair, frustration evident in the sounds she was making.

I pulled back then, giving her entire cunt a broad, luxurious stroke with my tongue. She gasped, yanking on my scalp painfully. Ignoring the discomfort, I gave her another long, impossibly slow caress. I placed a single finger at her opening, gently rimming its exterior, as I continued my leisurely attentions on her clitoris.

She pushed off against her elbows, thrusting her hips towards me. She shoved herself onto my finger, pushing it inside her, abruptly and crudely.

Her hot, wet passage was impossibly tight around my digit. I could feel a few tattered remnants of her maidenhead, and I carefully avoided them. I curled my finger into a come-hither motion, gently probing the spongy tissues protecting her incredibly sensitive inner nerve endings. She let out a growl, pressing my face yet-harder into her, nails digging painfully into my scalp.

I synchronized my interior and exterior movements, going excruciatingly slowly at first. She moaned in frustration, bucking against me desperately, urging me to go faster…

I gradually amplified my ministrations, simultaneously increasing in pressure and speed. The sounds of her pleasure swelled in volume with my painstaking attentions. By the time I was thrusting my finger in and out of her, straining her tight little passage, she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

She made no coherent sounds, just random syllables and gasping exhalations, as her body seized wildly. She was thrashing around heedlessly; it was all I could do to keep ahold of her hips with one hand, keeping her still enough to ruthlessly violate her with the other. Virtually my entire face was rubbing against her clit now, my tongue alone apparently insufficient to provide the pressure she was craving.

She finally came, and it crashed down around her with frightening intensity. She went abruptly silent, eyes rolling back in her head, every muscle in her body straining. She failed to breathe, too overwhelmed by the sensations wracking her body. I felt her vaginal walls roiling and contracting around me, nearly cutting off circulation to my finger. She squeezed my head between her thighs, painfully tight, leaving my ears ringing when she finally released me. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled across her, and it took over a minute for the contractions to slow. She collapsed onto the bed, soaking with sweat, gasping for air.

Her nails scrabbled needfully at my collarbone, so I climbed back onto the bed, hovering over her flushed, quivering form. She pulled me into a messy kiss, smearing her delicious wetness all over her own face. She grinned at me devilishly, licking her lips, before kissing me again, probing my mouth aggressively, hungry for more. I buried my arms beneath her, settling nearly all of my weight atop her. She wiggled against me alluringly as I whispered, “I love you, Hermione,” huskily into her rat’s-nest of hair.

I rolled onto my back, grasping her by the hip and shoulder, and pulling her on top of me. She settled into me, nuzzling my broad chest affectionately. We laid like that for a long time, her heart pounding against my ribcage, gradually slowing its pace as she took deep, calming breaths. My cock remained painfully erect the entire time, but there was nothing to be done for it. It was utterly impossible to occlude my filthy thoughts, and I couldn’t help but imagine her unfastening my belt, releasing the fly on my trousers, holding my huge throbbing member in her miniscule hands…

When her breathing had finally returned to normal, many long minutes later, she sat up on her knees, straddling my thighs. I was amused to see that her much shorter legs strained to reach all the way across my own. She had just started to place hot, moist kisses along the waistband of my trousers when her eyes happened to glance over the face of my watch. She let out a high-pitched squeal of horror, jumping off of me and frantically searching the tangle of fabric on the ground for her clothing. In a panic, I flew into a sitting position, staring at my watch in abject terror. We had four minutes to get her back on Hogwarts property!

_How the fuck did I lose three hours?! What the hell is wrong with me?! This damn girl destroys every bit of logical thought in my entire fucking brain!_

I pulled my shirt over my shoulders, doing up the buttons with a wandless charm. I left my waistcoat on the ground, simply helping Hermione yank her school robes over her head, abandoning her underwear and bra on the floor. We pounded down the stairs, exploded into the living room, and flew out the front door past the wards. We held hands, turning simultaneously on the spot.

The Hogwarts gates slammed behind us with less than a minute to spare. I fastened my cloak across my chest as Hermione Disillusioned herself. When we entered the massive double doors, I sent her up to her dormitory. She agreed easily, stating that she couldn’t be held responsible for what happened if we went back to my rooms.

I practically sprinted into my quarters, stripping off my clothing and falling onto my bed. My still-hard cock throbbed frantically as I took it in my fist. I beat off, savoring the taste of Hermione’s arousal that still coated my lips. I came nearly instantaneously, but my cock stayed ready, engorged with frustrated desire. I jacked off again, remembering her soaking wet cunt clenching around my finger. I gripped myself painfully tightly, imagining it was her hot little passage wrapped around me. I came twice more before my cock finally receded, its need for her only temporarily sated.

Though my body was limp with exhaustion, I laid awake for hours, remembering every detail of the night, determined to burn it into my memory. She was the most incredible thing I’d ever experienced, and I was filled with blinding gratitude.

_How did I get so lucky? How could a girl like Hermione, so beautiful, so full of potential, so utterly perfect in every way, be in love with me? I must have done something really amazing in a past life to deserve this…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some links to the songs in this chapter, if you're interested:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPL_SV3n7IU
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgaVrYOLvbk


	39. Chapter 39

About a week later, I was in my office grading fourth-year essays when a figure galloped into the abstract painting I had hanging behind my desk. “Master Malfoy and Master Potter are having a confrontation in the second floor boys’ bathroom!” Sir Cadogan cried out, tumbling indecorously from the saddle when his fat little pony halted abruptly. Ignoring the clanking of his armor as he struggled to stand back up, I ripped open the door and positively flew from my office. I pounded up the dungeon stairs and took the staircase right off the entry hall. My robes flapped loudly behind me as I sprinted down the corridor, sliding to a halt outside the restroom.

I kicked open the swinging door, entering with my wand held out cautiously in front of me. I walked into the room just as Potter was desperately spouting out a number of nonsense words. Malfoy laughed at him mockingly, casting a leg-locker jinx and sending him tumbling into a sizable puddle. From his place on the ground, Potter sent a nasty stinging hex, making Draco’s face swell up like a grotesque balloon. I cast a powerful shield charm between them, clearing my throat menacingly.

They finally took notice of me, terror and shock clouding their features as they looked up. I grabbed each of them by the ear, dragging them into the hall and away from the irritating spray of the broken fixtures. I shoved them roughly against the wall, towering over their heads, my expression mildly irritated.

“Mister Malfoy, you will be serving detention with me every Saturday evening for the remainder of term…” I drawled languidly. He let out a noise of indignation, beginning to complain that I was being completely unfair. I halted him with an imperious wave of my hand, shooing him away as if he were no more than an irritating housefly. He stormed off in a huff, but spoke no further. I waited until I heard his footsteps pounding down the staircase at the end of the corridor before I turned my haughty gaze on Potter.

“Mister Potter, you will serve detention with me this Saturday afternoon…” I began, but he cut me off rudely. “You can’t do that, Professor! That’s the last Quidditch game of the season!” he protested, his face flushing red with fury.

“I am well aware of that, Mister Potter,” I sighed wearily, “which is why I have chosen to schedule your detention during that exact period of time. Perhaps this will be a warning to you to not go around spouting out random spells you find handwritten in a book…” He gaped at me in shock, completely forgetting his anger.

“Yes, Mister Potter, I know about the book. I also know about the horcruxes. I even know what you suspect about Malfoy… But you need to act with caution, boy. Draco is desperate and dangerous, like an injured animal with its leg caught in a trap. I know you think you can take him in a fight, but you’re not ruthless like he is. You can’t hurt someone like that, Harry… you’re just like your mother… you care too much...” I stressed, and he looked up at me, Lily’s eyes glinting curiously behind his glasses.

“You just used my first name…” he muttered, shaking his head dazedly.

“My office. Saturday. 3 pm.” I growled, spinning with an impressive sweep of my cloak, and proceeding down the hall at a rapid clip. I disappeared into the hidden passage behind a coat of armor as he remained rooted to the spot, absorbing what had just happened.

When Hermione entered my laboratory quite late that night, she was rubbing her temples exhaustedly, complaining of a headache. “Well, Harry just forced it out of me that I blabbed all his secrets to you. I tried to keep it from him, but I’m a terrible liar. It was pretty damn obvious that I had been the one who told you.”

“Was he furious?” I asked, pulling her onto my lap where I sat on the couch.

She buried her face in my shoulder, replying, “Yeah, at first. Eventually I was able to talk him down, explaining how you saved my parents, how you’re trying to save Draco from his own bad decisions… I think he’s starting to come around. What did you say to him anyway? He actually seemed madder at me than he was at you… And you’re forcing him to miss the Quidditch championship!” she exclaimed, creasing her forehead in confusion.

I laughed quietly, hugging her tightly against my chest. “You’ll never get it out of me,” I teased, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. She gave me a peck on the tip of my overlarge nose, batting her eyelashes adorably. “I bet I could convince you…” she teased, sliding her soft hand down the collar of my shirt, then dragging her nails back up along my neck.

I groaned in frustration as blood began to flow to my cock. She felt it twitching to life beneath her ass, and she ground against me enticingly. “Fuck youuu...” I moaned, tossing back my head in blissful frustration.

She swung around, straddling my legs with some difficulty. She took my hand in her own, guiding it up and under her school robes. My fingers encircled her slim hip, realizing immediately that she was wearing no undergarments. I squeezed her bare ass roughly, groaning her name with desperation.

She unbuttoned my shirt slowly, placing wet kisses on each individual patch of skin she exposed. She finally finished, pulling me forward slightly so that she could remove the garment. She lowered her face to my chest, encircling my left nipple with her perfectly pink lips. She bit it suddenly, roughly, yanking on it with a savage glint in her eye.

I let out a cry of pain, bucking underneath her. She pushed me against the back of the couch with a small hand around my throat. She assaulted my other nipple, tightening her hold around my neck when I tried to struggle. She finished by tweaking them roughly, bringing a yelp out of me each time. She grinned at me evilly, reaching between us to grasp my rock-hard cock through my trousers with one hand while she continued to practically choke me with the other.

I moaned in a frenzy, drunk with feverish desire, pressing my hips insistently against her. She laughed mockingly, placing painful love bites all over my abdomen. I was nearly sick with need, moaning her name constantly and insistently now. Suddenly, she climbed off of me, scooting to the far end of the couch. She leaned her back against the arm, bending her knees up and spreading her legs wide. She pulled the hem of her robes slowly, enticingly, up her smooth legs. I licked my lips hungrily, watching with rapt attention. She paused just before her flawless little cunt was about to come into view.

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” she whispered, flushing shyly. I nodded wildly, nearly hurting myself as I violently yanked my cock out of my trousers. I began to stroke myself slowly, and her eyes devoured me. I was painfully swollen, veins bulging aggressively. My foreskin had partially retracted, leaving my exquisitely tender head visible. I ran my rough thumb across the glans, drawing an involuntary shudder from my own body. “It’s so much bigger than I’d ever imagined…” she breathed, leaning forward, her eyes full of rabid curiosity.

“You have to do it too…” I growled, barely able to restrain the pace of my ministrations. She nodded, leaning back and pulling her robes the rest of the way up her hips. Her spread her labia for me, displaying her glistening ruddiness.

It was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced, watching her stroke her swollen little bud as I pumped furiously up and down, fist in a death-grip around my impossibly rigid cock. I Occluded, trying desperately to make the moment last, but then she was gasping, leg muscles seizing, as an orgasm wracked her delicate body. The glorious noises she made brought my climax, and I came violently, seminal fluid flowing out from between the fingers of my clenched fist.

She crawled over on all fours, grabbing my hand before I could vanish the evidence. She stared me boldly in the eye as she brought my palm to her lips. She licked my hand obscenely, from the wrist to the tip of my middle finger, never once breaking eye contact. I shuddered with desire, overwhelmed by the lewd act she’d just committed. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, staring unblinkingly into my own as she slowly licked my semen from her lips. I felt the blood rushing back between my legs, engorging my sore member once again.

“Naughty, naughty little girl,” I growled, rising to my feet abruptly. She was still kneeling on her hands and knees, and I pushed on her lower back, forcing her ass to arch into the air. I pulled her fallen robes up, high enough that her bare breasts were exposed, dangling alluringly in the cold dungeon air. The voluminous fabric pooled around her arms and head, obscuring her view. I pulled my trousers and underwear off, beginning to stroke my cock languidly as I murmured to her, “Such a bad little girl. Seducing your professor like that… Spreading your little pink cunt for me like a shameless slut… Who knew such a filthy little beast lived inside you, Miss Granger? Such an insatiable, eager little whore. You’re constantly aching to be filled with my cock, aren’t you, girl?” I purred, squeezing her bottom tenderly with one hand as I stroked myself at a leisurely pace with the other.

“Yes…” she groaned, arching her back yet further, pushing her tight little ass into my hand. “Yes, what?” I drawled mockingly, removing my hand from her smooth skin.

“Yes, I ache for you, Master Snape! I want your huge cock inside of me, ripping me apart! I want it more than I want food, more than I want oxygen! Every second you’re not touching me is agony! I need you, Sir, I need you so fucking badly, I can’t bear it!” she cried out tearfully.

“That’s a good girl,” I murmured, smacking my hand across her ass abruptly. She cried out with a mixture of pleasure and pain, screaming, “Yes! Thank you, Sir!” I continued spanking her as she cried out her gratitude after every strike.

Enflamed with desire, I grabbed her roughly by the hips, spinning her around to face the back of the couch with her ass sticking out enticingly over the edge of the seat. I pressed her legs together, tucking my thick length between them. I fucked the crease between her upper thighs, the entire area already warm and delightfully soaked from her dripping cunt. My fingers dug into her hips, leaving small circular bruises where I desperately held her legs tightly together. She reached between her legs, furiously stroking herself, making a low, purring sound in the back of her throat.

I came between her legs, coating her upper thighs with my stickiness. She turned over, spreading her legs to me brazenly, rubbing my jizz all over her most private area. She ran two fingers through my fluids then thrust them inside herself, staring into my eyes fiercely the entire time.

I gaped at her display, overwhelmed with the entire experience. She fucked herself aggressively with her left hand while she rubbed her clitoris so quickly that her right was nothing more than a blur.

I could see my fluids clumping in her tiny thatch of blonde curls, already beginning to dry. She stuck the fingers of her left hand in her mouth, sucking them clean of both our juices. Seemingly triggered by the taste of our mingled desires, she came silently, eyes rolling back in her head so that I could see nothing but the whites.

By the time she came down, cheeks pink, chest heaving, my cock was ready once again, twitching expectantly when I bent down to pick up my clothing. I dressed slowly, her eyes on me the entire time. She seemed to be drinking in my physique, apparently admiring my lean muscles and the deliberate, sinewy grace with which I moved.

“I love you, Master Snape” she murmured, and I allowed myself a small smile, the corner of my mouth twitching upward in amusement. “I love you, Miss Granger,” I purred, clutching a fistful of the front of her robes and pulling her up to me. I kissed her quickly but passionately on the lips, keeping my mouth firmly closed, yanking away as the searing pain flared across my face. She yelped, grabbing her mouth painfully, but still smiling at me through her fingers.

“Now get the fuck out of here before we get ourselves expelled,” I grunted, not completely unkindly. She nodded with understanding, embracing me quickly before nearly fleeing from my lab. I spent the rest of the night drinking heavily in an attempt to repress my persistent, raging hard-on. I eventually passed out in a stupor many hours later, finally, blessedly, quelled by the wonders of alcohol-induced impotence.


	40. Chapter 40

Potter arrived at his Saturday afternoon detention in a predictably sullen mood. I set him to work disemboweling toads at a desk in my Defense classroom. I kept getting nauseated from the smell while trying to concentrate on grading essays. After a couple hours I couldn’t take it any more and told Potter he could stop. He looked up with a relieved expression, his face pale and greenish.

He started to get up to leave, but I halted him with a raised hand. “Potter, I need to speak with you…” I began, not even quite sure what I was doing.

He sat back down, looking at me curiously. “You’re probably wondering why I made that comment about your mother the other day,” I began, and he nodded fervently. “Your mother and I grew up together, Potter. We were the best of friends…” He stared at me, mouth gaping open in a stunned expression. “She was my first, closest, and for a very long time, only friend… I can’t overstate how much she meant to me… But when she started to develop feelings for your father, well you saw what happened…” I trailed off, looking down shamefully at the highly polished surface of my desk.

“So that’s why you were so protective of that memory- not because of them bullying you- it seemed like that happened all the time, huh? But because you called her a mudblood. You were ashamed of yourself…” he said thoughtfully, staring at me across the classroom with surprising perceptiveness in his bright green eyes.

I took my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes exhaustedly. “Correct. She never spoke to me again after that, other than to join the Marauders in taunting me,” I sighed. “From that day on, I started spending all my free time with the other Slytherins. Without her positive influence, I dove deeper and deeper into studying the Dark Arts. I was spending a lot of time with the other proto-Death Eaters, and their rhetoric about the superiority of the wizarding race really appealed to my desperate, grasping need to feel powerful. That book you found was full of my Dark teenage musings, Potter. I altered it a few months ago.” He gaped at me, shock fully evident in his expression.

“I was obsessed with that book… And then it just randomly stopped working for me one day… I thought it was so bizarre! I even looked back at old entries and could have sworn they had been different!” he exclaimed, clearly relieved to find out that he hadn’t just been imagining things.

“Do you understand why I had to change the book? You could have easily killed Draco in that bathroom if I hadn’t removed those spells…” He nodded ardently, his eyes wide as he realized how narrowly he had avoided getting himself thrown in Azkaban.

I continued brusquely, “I’m not sure why I’m saying all of this right now. I suppose I just wanted to attempt to bridge this divide that’s formed between us over the past six years. You’re the only piece of Lily that I have left, and I’ve held that against you for so long… But it’s not your fault that she fell in love with an arrogant, bullying prat. I’m sure James would have eventually grown up to be a perfectly wonderful husband and father, had he been given a chance. But that chance to grow old, to raise you, was stolen from them…” I steeled myself, taking a number of deep breaths before spilling out, “ **I stole that chance from them** … I’m the reason you’re an orphan, Harry. I overhead Sybil Trelawney prophesizing to Dumbledore through a crack in the door at a pub. I only heard the first part of it… I couldn’t have known it was about her…” I trailed off, holding my head mournfully in my hands.

He stood up from his chair, eyes blazing, and shouted, “YOU told Voldemort about the prophesy?! **YOU got my parents KILLED?!** ” He was nearly vibrating with fury, hands shaking as he yanked his book bag off the floor.

I looked up at him, allowing all the grief that had suffused my soul for the past 16 years to show on my face. “Yes, Harry. I’m completely responsible. You have every right to despise me.”

He seemed to struggle for a long time, taking steps to storm out of the door, but then reconsidering. He finally sat back down, face red, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff. “Well, at least you told me. I didn’t have to find out from somebody else. I mean, I can tell you feel really bad about it…”

I nodded mournfully, rubbing my eyes, exhausted from my unnatural expression of raw emotion. “She’s the reason I switched sides. I couldn’t bear to live with what I had done. Albus told me that I could atone for my sins if I worked for him, if I joined the Order. Desperate, overwhelmed with grief, I’d have done anything he asked of me. I have done everything he’s asked of me. Too much. Far too much.”

He looked at me then with a surprisingly kind expression in his eyes. “I understand, Sir. I’m sure I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of awful shite he puts you up to.” I simply nodded, glaring darkly at my stack of essays.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, I waved him off imperiously, growling, “Now get the hell out of my classroom. If I find out you’ve told anyone about the things I’ve said tonight, I will personally scoop out your bollocks and feed them to you with a spoon.” He nodded, giving me a small amused smile before he strode purposefully from the room. Wondering what the hell had just happened, I returned to my grading, dreading Malfoy’s arrival for his own detention.


	41. Chapter 41

Draco’s detention had been, predictably, quite fruitless. He refused to give me any information on his plans, sneering haughtily at me, insinuating that I was just trying to get a bit of glory for myself. I found far too much pleasure in finding the most disgusting and degrading tasks imaginable for him to complete. I’m ashamed to admit how delighted I was to purge my frustrations torturing the little brat every Saturday evening for the remainder of the term.

Two weeks later, I sent Malfoy to bed following a grueling three hours of scooping out and dehydrating Hinkypunk brains. I had just entered my laboratory when my arm flared with cold fire. I stormed into my bedroom, Hermione looking up with concern from the pile of notes and arithmancy equations detailing the dreadfully complicated three-part potion we’d been inventing for the past few weeks.

I threw on my robes, tucking my masque into an interior pocket. I stormed back through the lab, but Hermione caught me by the back of my cloak just as I was about to disappear through the wall. She pulled my face down and pressed me to her bosom, stroking my hair affectionately and kissing the top of my head. “It will all be ok,” she whispered, “I will be waiting for you. I’ll take care you. I’ll always take care of you…” I nodded that I understood, pulling away reluctantly and striding down the corridor at a rapid clip.

When I knelt before the Dark Lord a number of minutes later, my mind was a placid lake, glassy and smooth. Nothing could disturb the perfect peace that I wrapped around myself like a cloak. When he dove into my mind, I couldn’t help but grin devilishly. I fed him the images from Spinner’s End… Hermione telling me she loved me, her flawless nude body spread across my bed, my tongue probing her virginal depths.

When my vision returned, his face was a disturbingly satisfied rictus: very nearly a convincing imitation of joy. His thin lips pulled back from his pointed teeth in something akin to a smile. “Very well done, Severus. It’s taken you nearly an entire school year, but you accomplished the impossible- making a sexy little minx like that fall for a hideous, greasy bat such as yourself!” He let out a wheezing laugh, sounding rather like a leaky radiator, or a snake being strangled to death.

I removed my masque and allowed a darkly triumphant expression to cloud my face, ignoring his insulting jabs as per usual. “That’s not my only good news, Master,” I purred with a malicious grin, “I’m also making excellent progress on convincing Potter that I’m his ally.”

The Dark Lord laughed, clapping his skeletal, long-fingered hands together delightedly. “Oh, very well done, Severus! I must say, I never anticipated such accomplishments from you! You’ve truly exceeded my expectations!” I nodded subserviently, sweeping my cloak behind me in a cultured bow. “I live only to serve the glory of my Master,” I murmured, coloring my voice convincingly with pride and love.

He raised his wand, pointing it towards my lowered head and casting a wordless spell. I fell flat onto my back, riding enormous waves of pleasure that seemed on the verge of drowning me in their exquisite beauty. Incredible, otherworldly notes seemed to ring in my ears. With each swell of the music, my body hummed and tingled in concert. When the charm finally abated, I saw that well over an hour had passed. The Dark Lord had left long ago while I writhed on the floor in the ecstatic throes of his little reward. I pulled myself unsteadily to my feet, and the very air around me felt thick with delirium. I stumbled out the front doors of the manor in a fog, blind to my surroundings, a persistent humming in my ears.

I worried about splinching myself in my disoriented state, but I fortunately arrived at Hogwarts in one piece. I entered the gates to find Hermione sitting with her back resting against a tree trunk, reading a large book by wandlight. She ran over when she saw me, pointing her wand in my face. I retracted from the light, hissing like a vampire in a cheesy muggle movie. “Your pupils are enormous!” she gasped, taking my face between her palms and staring into my eyes appraisingly. “Are you high?” she asked incredulously, a wrinkle forming between her brows.

I let out a loud bark of a laugh, grinning at her broadly, “Yes! How did you guess?!”

I cracked myself up then, bending double and holding my stomach. She looked at me disapprovingly and raised a single eyebrow. “I was really worried about you, you know…” she scolded. “I thought you were going to be interrogated by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

I grinned at her evilly, “I was interrogated! But He was so pleased with the progress I’d made with you that he opted to reward me for all my hard work and sacrifice!”

Her intense blush was visible even in the nighttime gloom. “So He saw us? Doing… stuff?” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.

I looked at her incredulously, “You knew that was going to happen! You’re the one who suggested the whole idea!”

“Yeah, I know that, but it just feels so icky…” she trailed off, staring up at the cloudy, starless sky. “Why did you even come up with the plan if you were so disturbed by him seeing us together?” I asked, confusion clouding my blitzed mind.

“I just… I don’t know… I just wanted an excuse to get closer to you…” she mumbled.

I looked at her blankly, “Why the hell would you want that?”

She somehow blushed even brighter, hiding her face in her hands shamefully. Her voice was muffled as she whispered, “Because I liked you, ok?! It started forever ago… At first it was just a teacher crush… You know, like an intellectual thing. You never lacked an answer to a question. You came up with the most fascinating assignments. I thought it was so brilliant how you hinted about Professor Lupin’s condition with the assignment on werewolves! And you were so incredibly brave, protecting us from Remus when he accidently transformed! But then I hit puberty… And things started to change. I’d get little thrills of electricity down my spine when your deep voice would echo around the classroom, mocking me, mocking my friends… When I was learning to masturbate, I found that my mind would always inevitably wander to you. I’d imagine your long-fingered, graceful hands on my skin; your rich voice murmuring in my ear. I had these elaborate fantasies about serving detention with you. I started casting a weekly birth control charm on myself way back in October, just in case…” she trailed off, apparently too humiliated to continue.

My mouth hung open; I was convinced the entire thing was just an intricate hallucination. “Gods, you must think I’m so stupid!” she cried out, stamping her foot petulantly on the ground.

I shook my head slowly, looking down at her with a dazed expression on my face. “So you’ve wanted me for years?” I asked skeptically. She nodded, refusing to make eye contact. Dumbfounded by this revelation, I inelegantly dropped onto the grass as the world seemed to tilt and sway beneath me.

“Is this real life?” I mused, looking around me dazedly. “Stop it! Stop making fun of me!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I took her hand and pulled her down to my level. She knelt on the ground, studiously avoiding looking at me. “Hermione…” I crooned melodically, affectionately. She finally looked at me, humiliated tears still falling.

I gave her a sly grin. “This is the most amazing news I’ve ever received!” I laughed triumphantly. “I spent all of fall semester hating myself for wanting you! I thought I was this perverted monster, choosing to read too much into your innocent actions, convincing myself that you were responding to me… I wanted to kill myself after the night of Slughorn’s party… I thought I had assaulted you, terrified you…”

“You know I wore that dress for you, don’t you?” she asked shyly, peering up at me through her long eyelashes. “I guess I wanted you to see me as, like, an actual woman, instead of this scrawny little nerd girl…”

“Oh, trust me, I see you as a woman,” I growled playfully, leaning forward so that our faces were a mere hair’s breadth away. “And I still see you in that dress every damn time I close my eyes. You were the most magnificent thing I had ever beheld. The only time you’ve ever looked better is when you were naked on my bed…” I stared intensely into her smoldering eyes; her mouth was so close to my own that I could feel her every breath on my tingling lips.

The tattered shreds of my self-control were evaporating in the afterglow of the Dark Lord’s spell. “Goddamnit…” I whispered, breathing deeply, trying desperately to slow my pounding heart.

Her eyes were dark- nearly furious in their intensity. Her pupils were flickering back and forth rapidly, unable to focus her gaze on both of my eyes at such close range. She licked her lips unconsciously, and I could see that they were swollen with arousal. The sight of her little pink tongue poking out of her luscious mouth nearly undid me with its connotations.

“Professor…” she whispered, desperation apparent in her voice. I couldn’t stop thinking about that nubile young girl, discovering herself while thoughts of me circled through her head…

“Touch me, Hermione,” I groaned, wrapping my hand around her slim wrist and casting a wandless numbing charm on her entire arm. “But…” she started to protest, but I gave her arm a sudden tug, forcing her to fall forward on top of me. I leaned back on one elbow, reaching desperately into my robes, fumbling with the closure of my trousers. Hermione adjusted her body so that she was lying almost fully on top of me. She straddled my right thigh, pushing herself needfully against me. Her eyes were wide, alarmed but determined.

I finally freed my cock, and the flesh was burning hot and feverish to the touch. I throbbed desperately, erratically. She reached out for me with her anesthetized hand, slowly, nervously. With a grunt of frustration, I wrapped my hand around her own and forced her to grab me at once. She let out a little gasp, but whispered, “It hurts, but it’s not awful. Like I have a pinched nerve or something…” I ignored her, breathing deeply through the waves of agony that wracked my entire body. Lightning bolts seemed to radiate through my limbs from my crotch, which was searing like a bonfire. But my pain sensors were deadened with all the serotonin released by the Dark Lord’s spell. I could still feel the delicious pressure of our hands around my swollen member.

I wrapped my hand yet tighter around her own, starting to gradually move up and down. I was floating in a glorious haze of pain and pleasure. Each stroke let loose fresh agony, but the sight of her touching me was intoxicating, mind-blowing, a revelation. “Use your saliva…” I groaned. She looked hesitant, but eventually she dropped a globule of spit onto my cock, blushing furiously the whole time. The string clung to her lip for a long second, and the obscene visual was ridiculously erotic. She rubbed her saliva over my exposed glans with her thumb, drawing a gasp from me. She smiled up at me then, swirling her palm across the moistened head. I moaned, throwing my head back deliriously.

Encouraged by my response, she added more lubrication, glancing up at me with a flirtatious expression on her face. After a minute, she pushed herself up, straddling my legs, her thighs straining to reach across my own. She took my cock in both of her hands, gasping loudly in pain, and I was shamefully gratified to see that she couldn’t even hold the entire length in her two dainty hands. She gripped me tightly, experimenting with different speeds, different types of movement. I was in the throes of ecstasy; literally anything she did to me, no matter how unpracticed, was sheer heaven. I felt my balls starting to contract, pulling up into my body in anticipation of their moment.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel floated to us on the wind. The noise came from around the bend of the path, hidden from our view by a shadowy copse of trees. We scrambled frantically to our feet. Hermione cast a remarkably powerful Disillusionment Charm, disappearing almost completely in the murky, starless night. I threw my robes over my straining cock, not having the time or coordination necessary to get it safely tucked away. Hermione pressed herself against my back; I placed my hands on my waist so that my cloak would billow out, obscuring her from view.

An enormous silhouette appeared around the curve, strolling at a leisurely pace along the gravel path. As Hagrid came into view, I fixed a haughty sneer on my face. He startled when he made out my shape in the darkness, shouting across the distance, “Bloody ‘ell, Snape! Whotcha doin’ out ‘ere in tha middle o' tha night?!”

“My business is no concern of yours, oaf,” I snarled. “Obviously I am returning from a meeting with the Dark Lord, so I would appreciate just a modicum of privacy as I make my pathetic, agonizing way up to the castle!” I spat angrily. He offered to help me up the incline, but I waved him off with a contemptuous growl. He padded off into the mirk, continuing his nighttime stroll, and it was many long minutes before my heart rate slowed to a reasonable pace.

When I was quite certain he had gone, I turned around and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace, casting the counter-spell to her disillusionment. “ _Fuck me_ , that was close,” I breathed, burying my face in her coarse mane. “No kidding,” she whispered.

But then she pressed her hips against me, grinning at me broadly. “Even after near catastrophe, you’re still hard?” she giggled in an alluring manner.

“This is what you do to me, girl,” I growled. “You have surgically removed every last bit of good sense from my body. I’ve lost all ability to control myself, to make sensible decisions…”

“I wish you would control yourself less…” she teased, placing her hands on my chest and grasping handfuls of my thick, brocaded robes. “Take it back out,” she whispered.

“He could come back at any moment!” I protested halfheartedly.

She grinned at me, “I don’t care.”

I spread my robes open, exposing my aching member once again. “Touch yourself how you like it. I want to know what you enjoy…” she commanded me. Tremendously aroused by her dominance, I did as she instructed. After a few minutes, she knelt down to get a better view.

The visual of her on her knees before me, mouth mere inches from my cock, crease of studious concentration between her brows, was my undoing. I cried out that she needed to move, that I was going to come, but she stayed rooted to the spot. When the first spurt exploded into my hand, she tipped her head back, opening her mouth wide. A hot flush of arousal burned in my chest, fogging my mind.

I let out a feral, agonized sound at the sight and blasted the rest of my load across her face, then smeared it across her cheek with my semen-coated hand. I’m ashamed of how erotic I found the degrading image of her innocent young face covered in my spunk. She swallowed the small amount that I had managed to get into her little mouth, licking her lips and looking up at me mischievously. “Holy hell, woman…” I gasped, waving my hand over her with a wandless cleansing charm. “What the fuck was that?!”

She shrugged, saying, “I’ve seen people doing that in adult films… It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Hermione, don’t feel like you need to do things like that for me. Don’t force yourself to be something you’re not. I’m happy with you just as you are. Just because I’m more experienced than you… You shouldn’t degrade yourself because you think that’s what I want…” I struggled for the words to express myself.

She laughed in exasperation, grabbing ahold of my sleeve to pull herself to her feet. “Oh. My. Gods. How long is it going to take before you stop doing this?! I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, ok? I’m not trying to ‘be something I’m not’,” she scoffed disdainfully. “Is it that hard to believe that I actually enjoy the things we do?”

“Yeah, actually, it is,” I admitted.

“Why? Do you really think I’m that innocent? Cause you don’t know the things I fantasize about… some of them are pretty fucked up… I’m not the perfect little angel that you seem to think I am!”

“No… no. It’s not that. I guess I just… can’t believe you’d want to do those things for me,” I muttered, surprising myself with how open I was being. I never allowed my careful projection of false self-confidence to waver in front of others. “You could have literally anyone you wanted. Anyone. I’m a big-nosed, gawky, greasy-haired bat. It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense…” I trailed off, and I felt tears stinging my eyes. _Gods, that spell really did a number to me. I’m an emotional basketcase._

She reached for me, pulling my head down to rest on her shoulder. She stroked my hair, kissing my cheek in a motherly sort of way. Her display of affection snapped my paper-thin restraint, and the tears spilled forth from my eyes. I wept quietly, Hermione humming a soothing melody to me, swaying slightly as if rocking an infant. I quieted after a few minutes, sniffling dolefully.

“Your parents really did a number on you, didn’t they?” she asked, empathy and compassion coloring her voice.

“What ever do you mean? What do they have to do with anything?” I inquired, straightening up and staring at her, confusion wrinkling my brow.

“You’re incapable of believing anyone can care about you. You think you’re unworthy of love.”

I scoffed, turning my nose up haughtily. “Nonsense.”

She gave me a sad little smile, standing on her tip-toes to give me a peck on the cheek. “Maybe you’re not the textbook definition of beautiful, but you are ridiculously attractive. Your features are so striking; you need a strong nose to compliment your high, severe cheekbones and your sharp jaw.” I raised an eyebrow, looking at her curiously. “You’re not gawky… you’re lithe, graceful, controlled, intimidating… And when you actually make an effort and bother to take care of yourself, your hair is impossibly soft and shiny, and so long… I love running my fingers through it. But the sexiest thing about you is your voice. It’s so deep, and rich, and musical… I get shivers every time I hear it. When you were singing to me… I literally could have had an orgasm just from the sound of it!” she laughed, and I allowed the corner of my mouth to quirk up in amusement.

“Do you really mean those things?” I asked after a contemplative moment.

“Of course I do, Severus! You’ve felt how my body responds to you! Trust me, pure intellectual stimulation does not soak my panties like that!” she cracked up then, and her bubbling mirth brought mine along with it. We held each other, laughing riotously, for a long time. After an exultant few minutes we calmed down, smiling at each other affectionately. “I suppose not. I’ve certainly never gotten a hard-on from a philosophical discussion…” I joked drily. “Not even once or twice?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Okay, maybe once. But I’m really into nihilism…”

We disillusioned ourselves and strolled back up to the castle arm-in-arm. We joked and laughed quietly, playfully tussling every once in a while. When got to the top of the castle steps, we paused, looking at each other wistfully. “I miss being able to sleep with you occasionally,” she grumbled. “Stupid Draco, ruining everything.”

“It won’t always be like this, Hermione,” I reassured her, grasping her hands tightly in my own. “One day we’ll be able to be together. Really be together. Every single night…”

“…forever…” I finished quietly, nearly inaudible.

“Is that what you want?” she asked, her disillusioned face unreadable in the gloom.

I nodded my head, unable to say the words aloud.

“That’s what I want too,” she whispered. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

I felt tears stinging my eyes again, so I kissed her fiercely on the forehead, blinking furiously to keep them from falling.

“I love you, Hermione,” I crooned, my lips brushing her cheek tenderly.

“I love you too, Severus.”

I was bereft when we parted ways in the entrance hall. My chest felt like it had a gaping crater in it; my stomach fluttered unpleasantly. I dragged my feet down to my quarters with reluctant petulance. I flopped onto my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. I laid like that for many hours before I finally drifted off: contemplating all the things that had happened, becoming increasingly convinced that I had hallucinated the entire thing.

I wondered idly if I were still blissed out on the floor of Malfoy manor- that the entire exchange with Hermione had been an incredible dream created by my subconscious mind.

But when I grudgingly pulled myself out of bed for breakfast the next morning, the truth finally sank in:  _She wants me. She loves me. She wants to be with me forever. She wants me. She loves me. She wants to be with me forever. She wants me. She loves me. She wants to be with me forever…_ The words spiraled through my brain endlessly like a mantra. And despite the crushing hangover I was nursing from the Dark Lord’s spell, I felt like I was walking on a cloud. I couldn’t remember a day in my life when I’d ever felt better, more hopeful, more unburdened by the trials and tribulations of life. _I can damn well do this,_ I told myself. _I can win this fucking war._


	42. Chapter 42

The following evening, Hermione and I were exhausted and soaked head-to-toe in sweat, hunched over three scorching-hot cauldrons. These were our 37th, 38th, and 39th attempts at making the first dose of our Triad Potion. We had perfected the second and third doses weeks ago, but they were meant to achieve far simpler goals. The initial poison was impossibly complex, achieving a number of conflicting objectives simultaneously. I had never tried to invent such a seemingly illogical brew in my life. The rational backbone that must exist for a magical concoction to be stable was notably absent from this endeavor. I was fortunate that Hermione had inspired such optimism within me, or otherwise I’d have given it up as a lost cause weeks ago.

We had discovered that the fire needed to be maintained well in-excess of 800 degrees centigrade for the magical and muggle components to combine properly, so the laboratory felt like the surface of the sun. The cooling charms we had cast on our clothing did virtually nothing against the roiling onslaught of misery. Hermione was carefully mopping sweat from my brow so that it wouldn’t fall onto the ridiculously expensive Angel’s Trumpet stamens that I was tediously plucking with forceps from the small pile of flowers on the table. I finally harvested 60 stamens and leaned back with a groan, stretching my neck painfully. Hermione carefully added twenty to each batch, dropping them one-by-one with the forceps. Her lips moved silently as she counted to herself.

I moved on to the next step, pulling the glass jug of Aminocaproic acid out of a cabinet. I never ceased to be amazed at what my black-market contacts could procure for me. I had never expected them to have such excellent access to muggle chemicals, but apparently Hermione’s idea of combining the magical and mundane had already occurred to those brilliant wizards in the recreational drug trade. I pulled out a pipette, adding 20 mLs, 30mLs, and 40mLs, to each burnished copper cauldron respectively.

Hermione measured and poured the Wormwood Infusion and sprinkled equal amounts of powdered Root of Asphodel into each batch. I enchanted the stirring rods to take two clockwise rotations. I added the sloth brains that I had carefully diced, holding the cutting board low so as to avoid splashing. I thanked the gods that I had perfected the Draught of Living Death so many years ago. I couldn’t imagine if I had to follow Libatious Borage’s far lengthier, more complicated instructions.

I finished crushing the 39 Sopophorous Beans, setting my silver knife aside after a quick wandless cleansing spell. I waited at attention, graduated cylinders of bean juice in hand, as Hermione added 1 gram, 2 grams, and 3 grams of Pentobarbital to each cauldron. It began bubbling violently, as we knew it would. I immediately dumped in the juice, and the boiling receded to a more manageable rate. We let out simultaneous sighs of relief; we’d had over a dozen utter catastrophes at that stage in the process.

I put 8 drops of Hemlock extract and 20 drops of Nightshade tincture in each cauldron. I had pre-treated the Hemlock and Nightshade with an encapsulation spell. I saw the drops breaking apart inside the mixture, but they remained magically isolated. I knew they would remain perfectly immiscible until the third dose of the potion series released the encapsulation.

She dropped two tablets of Tranexamic acid to each cauldron, watching as they dissolved almost instantly. Meanwhile, I enchanted the stirring rods to perform seven counter-clockwise rotations and one clockwise. I glugged a healthy portion of Syrup of Hellebore into each batch, and the surfaces of the potions went utterly still. I gingerly sprinkled the Valerian Root out of the mortar I’d used to powder it.

I extinguished the fires with my wand, and we stood back at a healthy distance to watch. Two of the concoctions turned a pleasing shade of pale rose pink. The other was a violent fire-engine red. I vanished that one with my wand while Hermione decanted the other attempts. I levitated two of my rat cages across the room, settling them gently on the workbench in front of us.

I took R-3527 out his cage, and he twitched his nose at me curiously. I sucked a small amount of potion into a pipette, which I wedged into the corner of his mouth. I released 2 mLs, and he swallowed them down easily. He immediately went limp in my hand. I felt for his minute pulse, and it fluttered with remarkable infrequency. I administered the other batch to the second rat, and he fell limp in my hand as well.

Nodding approvingly, I pulled my surgical shears out of a drawer, casting a wandless sterilization spell on them. I laid out each rat on a clean towel, and placed each of their right forepaws in a tiny vice. I clipped one toe from each rat’s foot, and they didn’t stir a bit. Not a single drop of blood emerged from the sites of amputation. Hermione clapped her hands excitedly, but otherwise kept quiet so as to not disturb me.

I disinfected and wrapped up their feet with tiny bandages, then placed them back into their nests. I injected each rat’s thigh muscle with the second dose of potion, an adaptation of Wiggenweld Potion which we’d combined with sizable doses of Norepinephrine and Doxapram. Both rats began to stir, and my heart leapt into my throat. The movements of the one which had received the 37th version of the potion ceased within a few minutes. I monitored its vital signs carefully, and my hopes sunk along with its respiration and heart rates. When it expired, I let out a frustrated sigh. But Hermione yanked on my sleeve, pointing silently at the other cage.

The other rat was staggering to his feet, glancing around the cage in a daze. He gradually meandered to the other end of the tank, helping himself to a drink of water and a bite of food. After a few minutes he went to his wheel and began to run. We watched him raptly for an hour as he resumed normal activities. All his vitals were perfect; he responded promptly and alertly to stimuli. I refused to let myself get too hopeful, but this is the farthest we had ever gotten.

As I struggled to maintain a healthy sense of detachment, I picked up R-3528 and looked into his beady little eyes. Hermione handed me the pipette containing the third dose. Breathing deeply, desperately trying to slow my pounding heart, I released a couple drops onto the rodent’s tongue. His eyes began to droop; he let out a tiny little yawn. He fell into a deep slumber, and his breathing gradually slowed until the diagnostic spell I cast came back blank.

I vanished the two limp bodies in silence, trapped in a dense fog of unreality. I couldn’t draw breath; my hands were clammy and shaking. It felt like my eyes were bulging out of my head. I turned and looked at Hermione, who had her hands clapped over her mouth, which was hanging open in astonishment. She let out a high-pitched squeak, then ran forward, grabbing the front of my robes.

“ **WE DID IT!!!!** ” she screamed, jumping up and down, yanking on my clothes excitedly. “We actually did it!!”

I shook my head in disbelief, finally drawing in a ragged breath. “I can’t believe it…” I breathed, sinking to my knees in gratitude. Tears of relief flowed down my face as I curled into a fetal position on the cold flagstone floor. Hermione was still jumping up and down, letting out riotous laughs of triumph. She left me to my minor breakdown as she ran into my quarters, whooping and cheering as if she were at a Quidditch match.

She reemerged with a bottle of Prosecco and two flutes she’d looted from my kitchen. She placed them on the coffee table then skipped over to me. She pulled on my arm insistently until I dragged myself to my feet. I collapsed onto the couch as she popped the cork on the bottle of wine.

The sudden noise startled me back into cognizance. I let out a chuckle when she accidently overfilled one glass, spilling all over her hand and the floor when it bubbled over the rim. She joined me in laughing at herself, handing me the dry glass. We toasted silently, our glittering, tear-filled eyes saying everything that needed to be said.


	43. Chapter 43

A little over two weeks later, Hermione and I were hard at work in my lab. We had fallen way behind on my production schedule due to our constant laboring over the Triad Potion, so we were playing some serious catch-up. It was early evening when we heard a strange, distant thumping noise. We both looked up curiously, brows wrinkled, from our respective cauldrons. Hermione got a look of dawning comprehension on her face, jumping up from her seat and running to the entrance wall. It dissolved at her touch, revealing Potter standing on the other side, pounding both of his fists against the illusory stone.

I stormed down the short corridor, shouting, “What in the bloody hell?! You told him where my private laboratory is hidden?!”

“It’s not like he can get in on his own!” she scoffed as she grabbed his hand and yanked him inside. “And I told him so that he could find me in emergencies!”

Harry gawked at the room in wonder, seeming to have forgotten why he’d come in the first place. I cleared my throat irritably. “Potter, do you care to regale me with what motivated you to come here and interrupt my work?” I hissed venomously.

He nodded his head apologetically, a look of anxiety overtaking over his pale face. “Trelawney heard a male voice celebrating in the Room of Requirement when she was hiding her empty sherry bottles. I’m sure it’s Malfoy, and anything he’s happy about cannot be good for the rest of us. I told Dumbledore about it, but he completely disregarded me! And now he wants the two of us to leave the castle to hunt down a Horcrux! This is so incredibly stupid! Malfoy has finally done whatever it is he’s been trying to do, and now the castle is going to be left undefended!”

“It’s not undefended. I am here, as well as the other professors. Dumbledore isn’t the only one who can cast a couple jinxes, you know,” I scoffed.

“I’m sure he’s found some way to bring Death Eaters into the castle!” Hermione mused hurriedly. “There must be something in the Room of Requirement that he’s going to use…”

Potter and I nodded in agreement with her. He pulled a tiny vial out of his pocket that appeared to hold a dose of Felix Felicis. I let out a low whistle of admiration at the sight. “That’s a small fortune you’ve got in your hand there, boy.”

“I won it from following the instructions in your book,” he told me, holding it out on his flat palm. “Split it between you and Hermione. I’m taking the rest back to Gryffindor tower for Ron and Ginny. I really have to go now. Dumbledore is expecting me to just run to my dorm, grab my cloak, and go straight back to his office. He’s already gonna be pissed I took this long.” He shocked me by holding out his hand, and I shook it, dumbfounded at how mature he was acting. “Please look after her, Professor,” he requested, then wrapped up Hermione in a huge hug. She was slightly tearful, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. I waved my hand, opening the wall for him, and he set off down the corridor at a jog.

Hermione looked at me, eyes wide and tear-filled, bottom lip quivering slightly. “I guess it’s finally really happening…” she whispered, voice shaky. I nodded, pulling her into my arms. “We have a plan. It’s all going to work out. We just have to be smart and careful,” I told her bracingly. I took a small sip from the vial, leaving more than half for her. She tossed it back, making a little grimace as the sickly-sweet warmth trickled down her throat.

I immediately felt incredible, like the entire world was at my fingertips. I could try anything, and I would succeed. I had but to ask for something, and it would be given. Hermione had an enormous grin on her face, looking up at me with eyes twinkling. I waved my wand, and the cauldrons across the room emptied of the potions we had been working on. “Come on, then,” I said, an elated tone to my voice despite the gravity of the situation.

We fled down the corridors, pounding up staircases two steps at a time, until we reached Minerva’s office. I pounded on the door impatiently until it swung open. Professor McGonagall was hunched over a stack of essays, glasses slipping down her thin nose. She waved her hand in the air, shutting the door behind us as we bustled into the small room. Hermione sat on the hard wooden chair, and I stood directly behind her. I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for her to acknowledge us. She finally finished reading the paragraph she was on, scrawling a long critique next to it. She looked up, and I noticed the weary lines under her eyes and around her mouth seemed to be getting more distinct every day.

“What can I help you children with?” she asked tiredly.

Rolling my eyes at her refusal to ever see me as anything but an overgrown student, I hurriedly explained the situation. All the exhaustion seemed to melt from her in an instant. She got to her feet, pulling her wand out of her sleeve with a determined flourish. “I’ll set the castle defensive wards. Hermione, you go alert the other Heads of House that an attack may be imminent. Severus, you need to get into the Room of Requirement and figure out what Draco’s got in there.”

Hermione shook her head emphatically, astounding me with her willingness to disobey a direct command from a professor. “We need to stay together, Professor McGonagall. We have a plan, and we need both of us for it to work,” she asserted, her body language communicating utter bull-headed certainty. Minerva’s eyes widened, looking up at me with curiosity and a not-insignificant bit of suspicion. “My word, you’ve certainly been an interesting influence…” she murmured to me.

“Very well, I will send patronus messages to the other professors and the rest of the Order. You two do whatever it is you’re going to do. I trust you will exercise good judgment, Severus?” she said crisply, narrowing her eyes at me pointedly.

I nodded with impatience, placing my hand on Hermione’s slim shoulder, “Come on, girl. We have work to do.” She jumped to her feet, and we headed off down the corridor at a rapid clip. I didn’t know it, but Minerva watched us the entire way until we vanished around a distant corner, wrinkle of scrutiny between her brows.

We finally reached the seventh floor, and Hermione was desperately out of breath from running up all those stairs. She stood off to the side, gasping for air, as I paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

 _I need to see what Draco’s doing…_ I thought, walking back and forth three times.

Nothing.

_I need to stop the Death Eaters from getting into the castle._

Nothing.

_I need to get out of the castle._

Nothing.

I tried a dozen other statements, but still the door refused to appear. Hermione got a look of inspiration, taking my hand and pulling me back a few steps.

She paced slowly, deliberately, eyes closed, crease of concentration between her thick brows. Then, a glowing outline appeared, rapidly tracing a door into existence. I let out a whoop of triumph, and Hermione’s eyes flew open at the sound. She squealed, throwing her arms around my neck. I lifted her and spun her in the air as she giggled with delirious joy. “You brilliant bloody witch!” I exclaimed. “What did you ask it?”

“I just said I needed to find where things are hidden!” she laughed, pumping a fist into the air.

“Of course! I should have known I was trying to be way too specific…” I berated myself.

“It just came to me in a flash! It must have been Felix giving me a little nudge!” she said humbly.

I Disillusioned the two of us, and I was amazed at how powerful the charm was with an extra bump of luck. We were both virtually invisible. I couldn’t even make out my own feet as I strolled to the entrance. I held my breath as I cautiously opened the door. As it swung inwards, Hermione let out a small gasp of astonishment. We crept through, and I closed the door silently behind us.

Enormous piles of refuse towered ominously three stories above our heads. Broken chairs, tables, lamps, cabinets, couches, wands, picture frames, and so much more formed tangled heaps in every direction. A gigantic pile of books was directly ahead of us, some burned, some soaked, some ripped from their bindings, some quivering as if fearing for their lives, some snapping their covers at each other in territorial conflict. We proceeded down a corridor we chose at random, not even sure how to start picking through the gargantuan mess.

After a few minutes of strolling, I cast a Hominem Revelio charm. We weren’t close enough to pick up Draco’s presence. We spent the next thirty minutes methodically examining every aisle of the impossibly enormous room, leaving distinctive items in the middle of the pathways to mark where we’d already been. Finally, I heard a distant cough. Hermione took my invisible hand in her own with some difficulty, and I cast Hominem Revelio once again. A male shape glowed faintly on the other side of a truly enormous pile of rubbish. It took nearly ten minutes for us to circumvent the mound, but finally he came into view.

He was pacing back and forth in front of an enormous, ancient, intricately carved wooden cabinet. I recognized it from the many trips I’d taken to Borgin and Burke’s over the years. _So obvious_ , I scoffed in my head, _how did I not think of that?_ We crouched behind half of a small flower-printed loveseat, as I wondered idly what had happened to the other part. Unable to communicate with Hermione, the wheels turned rapidly in my head as I pondered what to do.

After a few minutes, she reached into one of the many interior pockets of the robes I had gifted her. She pulled a vial of Indelible Sticking Solution out and waved it in front of my eyes. I could just barely make out her huge smile. An evil grin overtook my face, and I kissed her clumsily on her invisible forehead. I took out my wand and cast a silent Confringo Curse at the particularly large armchair that teetered ominously at the very top of the garbage mountain behind us. It crashed down the far side of the mound, causing an almighty roar as it triggered an avalanche. Hermione and I both cringed at the deafening racket, even though we knew it was coming.

Draco let out a high-pitched scream, yanking his wand out of his robes and pointing it frantically in every direction. He ran off around the curve of the now-slightly-smaller pile, searching frantically for the cause of the avalanche. As soon as he vanished from view, we scampered forward. I kept watch as Hermione opened the door of the cabinet. She used the applicator to smear a healthy amount of the magical glue into both parts of the locking mechanism. She also applied a thick bead all the way along the edge of the door. She shoved the door shut with some difficulty, vanishing the small amounts of glue that oozed out. I applied the charm to permanently affix the glue, and Hermione gave the door an experimental yank. It didn’t even move a millimeter. Not stopping to celebrate, we held hands and quietly jogged down the nearest aisle, desperate to put distance between us and Draco before he returned.


	44. Chapter 44

We had no time to make sure Draco hadn’t discovered our tampering. We left the room, moving as quickly as humanly possible while still remaining perfectly silent. We arrived at Dumbledore’s office, and I shouted, “Fizzing Whizzbees!” when we were still halfway down the hall. We slid to a halt in front of the stone gargoyle and ran up the moving staircase.

My eyes instantly alighted on Godric Gryffindor’s sword, gleaming proudly in a glass case behind Dumbedore’s desk. The portraits of the former Headmasters called down to our indistinct shapes, demanding to know who was breaking into the Headmaster’s office in the middle of the night. I ignored them, smashing the glass case with a paperweight I took off the desktop. The portraits let out cries of surprise and indignation, wondering just who the hell I thought I was, going around destroying other wizards’ property. Shouting at them to shut the fuck up, I took the sword and handed it to Hermione. She dropped it into one of her large pockets, and it disappeared immediately.

We left the office at a dead sprint, both of us completely soaked in perspiration and gasping for oxygen by now. We returned to the seventh floor corridor, hunkering down behind a limestone carving of Hildegarde the Horrible, a few dozen meters from the Room of Requirement. We waited there for nearly an hour, and each second ticked by with unbearable sluggishness. It felt as if I were going to spend the rest of my life there- crouching behind that damned statue, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen.

Finally, the door flew open, disgorging Bellatrix and Draco from the room. Bellatrix was covered in dozens of tiny scratches, all of which were steadily weeping blood. She appeared to have a large volume of wood fragments embedded in her rat’s nest of hair. I assumed that she came through first, immediately discovering that the door wouldn’t open. She got increasingly crushed inside the cabinet as a second and third Death Eater arrived. She would have sent the others back then blasted her way out of the cabinet with sheer brute magical force. Relieved that we now only had one psychotic murderer to deal with instead of a dozen, we tracked the pair at a safe distance.

They hardly even looked over their shoulders as they scampered down the hallway and up the spiral staircase. Shaking my head at their brash disregard for caution, I had no trouble tracking them up to the astronomy tower. My legs were burning with lactic acid by the time we finished the laborious climb to the highest point in the castle. We watched through the audaciously unclosed door as Bellatrix shouted “Morsmordre!” and cackled triumphantly. A shower of green stars burst from her wandtip, resolving themselves into the shape of the Dark Mark. The skull drifted lazily upwards into the sky, casting its sickly green light over the slate rooftops.

Draco stood in a corner, shaking slightly, with his arms wrapped tight around himself. He stared moodily into the middle distance, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Bellatrix paced around, muttering quietly to herself, letting out mad barks of laughter every so often. Her skeletal face was the most deranged I’d ever seen it; she was obviously becoming more mentally unwell with each passing day. I concentrated on my breathing, carefully occluding my nervousness and fear.

All of a sudden, Bellatrix started jumping up and down, pointing excitedly at something I couldn’t see. A few minutes later, two shapes swooped down, circling carefully to land on the flagstone floor of the tower. Harry stood in front of Dumbledore steadily, shoulders squared, wand drawn, glasses opaquely reflecting the green light from overhead. The wizened Headmaster seemed to be struggling just to remain standing, though he had his wand out as well.

Bellatrix laughed triumphantly, “Well, Dumbledore, you look like somebody’s already done most of the hard work for us! You’re on death’s doorstep as we speak!”

“Quite right, Ms. Lestrange. Perceptive, as always. As you can plainly see, this has not been an enjoyable evening for me. So shall we have this unpleasantness done with? I’m quite exhausted,” he murmured pleasantly, letting out a huge yawn for dramatic effect.

Hermione and I slipped outside, and Harry’s eyes flicked towards the impression of movement against the light spilling from the doorway. He made out our disillusioned shapes on either side of the doorframe. The Death Eaters were thankfully facing away from us, and Potter kept his face carefully impassive so as to avoid giving away our presence.

“Go on then, Draco,” she urged, giving him a small push on the shoulder. He raised his wand for the first time, pointing it over Harry’s shoulder. “Expelliarmus!” he cried, and the Headmaster’s wand spun through the air. Draco caught it deftly, sneering haughtily. “Not so tough now, are you old man?”

“Indeed. You have me at your mercy, Draco. Does this please you?” he asked mildly, as if inquiring about nothing more serious than the boy’s favorite sweet.

“Of course it does, you daft old wanker! You’ve had a Death Eater hiding under your roof, plotting against you for an entire year, right under your crooked nose, and you didn’t even notice!” he shouted, then laughed with a note of desperation in his voice.

Bellatrix sneered, taunting him further, “You’ve really lost your touch, Dumbledore!” The withered man simply nodded, seeming to agree with her assessment. “Go on, then, Draco! Kill him! Cast the Avada Kedavra!”

Draco raised his hand once again, and I could see it shaking in the murky darkness. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Harry cried out, casting a powerful Impedimenta Jinx at the two figures. They flew a half-dozen feet, crumpling into a heap on the ground. Harry set off down the stairway, taking two to three steps at a time. “Get back here, boy!” Bellatrix screeched, sprinting after him in predatory pursuit.

Draco was now apparently alone on the tower with Dumbledore. He dragged himself to his feet, looking at the old man uncertainly. He raised his wand again, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to make a single sound. His hand was noticeably quaking now, his wandtip zig-zagging this way and that. He let out a grunt of frustration, yanking on his hair with his free hand.

“You don’t need to do this, Draco,” Dumbledore murmured soothingly. “You can be your own man. You don’t have to do the bidding of the Dark Lord.”

“What? So I can become your personal slave like Snape?” he spat with exaggerated arrogance.

The Headmaster pretended he hasn’t spoken, continuing placidly, “This isn’t you, Draco. You’re not a killer. Your parents don’t want you to do this, you know.”

“What the hell do you know about my parents?” he demanded.

“I know they love their little boy, and they don’t want to see him become a monster. Every day they have to suffer through the consequences of a decision they made when they were only a year older than yourself now. We all make rash, impulsive choices when we’re young. I’ve lived every single day of the past century tortured by regret for a relationship I had in my youth…” Dumbledore trailed off as Draco began to lower his wand. When the boy tucked it into his pocket, I raised my own and sent a nonverbal Stupefy in his direction. He crumpled to the ground, eyes unfocused and dazed.

I removed the Disillusionment from myself as I took the dozen long strides across the flagstones to where the Headmaster stood, leaning heavily against the ramparts. He gave me a small smile, “Good evening, Severus.”

I scowled at him, lifting the corner of my lip in a disdainful sneer. “Lovely to see you, Headmaster.”

“You need to do it now, Severus. Please. I’m in so much pain.”

I shook my head resolutely, saying, “There’s been a change of plans, Sir.” A glass bottle seemed to appear out of thin air as Hermione pulled it from her Disillusioned robes. “Drink this,” I commanded, holding it out to him.

“Is it poison?” he inquired, looking at the pale pink liquid curiously.

“Yes. Among other things,” I smirked.

He looked at me angrily, eyes flashing behind his half-moon spectacles. “I believe I specifically requested that you dispose of me by the Killing Curse.”

“Now that you mention it, I believe you did make that request…” I murmured with feigned remembrance, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “But there’s been a small change of plans. When you’re ready to go, you can do it your own damn self. I have a third potion that will activate the poison.”

“A THIRD potion?” he spluttered. “What does the second one do?!”

I let out a scornful chuckle, leaning forward so that my long, hooked nose was a mere inch from his own crooked one. I smiled at him dangerously, whispering, “Oh, you’ll see eventually. Now drink that fucking poison before I pour it down your throat myself.”

He shook his head disapprovingly, tossing it back as he swallowed the bitter concoction. His eyes crossed, and he collapsed within a few seconds. I caught him on his way down, lowering him gently to the flagstones.

I rolled him on his side while holding onto his cursed hand. I stretched the limb out, pulling it straight up into the air.

Hermione pulled the sword out of her interior pocket, and the ruby-encrusted hilt glimmered through her nearly-invisible hand. She walked over to me slowly, and the sword shook in her unsteady hands. I looked at her fiercely, murmuring, “You can do this, Hermione.” She raised the sword, but promptly let it drop.

“I can’t. I can’t. I don’t have the strength. I can hardly even lift the damn thing. You have to do it.”

I protested, “I don’t know if it’ll even work for me. I’m not a Gryffindor!”

“I don’t think I can swing it hard enough to get through the bone… I think you can use it. It responds to bravery, Severus. You’re the bravest person I know. I’m sure it will let you.”

I shook my head in dispute, but I picked up the sword anyway. She took the Headmaster’s limp hand in her own, rolling the sleeve down to expose the entire arm. I saw that the curse had worked its way quite far up the old man’s shriveled limb. I realized I would have to chop it off as near to the shoulder as I possibly could.

Steeling myself, I held the sword firmly in both hands. “Keep it steady now, girl,” I growled through bared teeth, and she wrapped her other hand tightly around the blackened, dead wrist. I pulled the sword back as if I were preparing to strike a cricket pitch. I took in a deep breath, and as I slowly released it, I swung…


	45. Chapter 45

The impossibly sharp sword sliced through the Headmaster’s arm as if it were no more than a slim, brittle tree branch. A single artery spurted blood, which I quickly cauterized with a small blue flame from my wandtip. The stump continued to weep slightly, but the blood seemed to be clotting as perfectly as we’d hoped.

I quickly sterilized the open wound with a couple of spells, poured a small portion of Dittany, and placed an invisible magic bandage over the raw flesh. Hermione pointed her wand at the shriveled, blackened arm that I’d tossed carelessly across the floor. Flames spurted out of her wand, utterly engulfing the limb. It burned for no more than a few seconds, seeing as how it had so little actual flesh left on it. I speared the sword through the widest part of the upper arm.

I held my bizarre shish-kabob out over the battlements. I threw it as hard as I could, and it plummeted to the ground. It landed almost exactly in front of the castle doors, and I let out a little “Yes!” of triumph.

I turned to Draco’s prone form. His eyes were still dazed and unfocused. He didn’t even look at me when I pulled him up into a sitting position.

I pointed my wand directly into his eyes and whispered, “Obliviate!” The boy’s eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites showing. I left him there, recasting a Disillusionment Charm on myself as Hermione and I ran back down the staircase. We needed to be as far from the scene of the crime as humanly possible before someone found the bodies.

We were loudly galloping down a fourth-floor hallway to the narrow secret staircase that would lead us directly into the dungeons. Suddenly, a black-clad figure leapt out from behind a mirror. Hermione shrieked, and I sent a nonverbal Leg-Locker Jinx at it. Harry tumbled to the ground, letting out an inelegant high-pitched scream as he fell.

I chuckled quietly, releasing the jinx as Hermione helped him to his feet. “Where is Bellatrix?” I asked sharply as the three of us continued to run down the hall to the staircase, Potter limping slightly.

“She doesn’t know the secret passages in the castle very well. I was able to lose her by slipping into that one behind the mirror after I put enough distance between us! After a while I heard running but didn’t see anyone, so I figured it was you guys.”

“So she’s just roaming around the castle, then?” I barked impatiently.

“Yeah. I’ve seen the professors patrolling the corridors though, and I could’ve sworn I heard Tonks' and Kingsley’s voices from a distance. I thought Bellatrix would probably try to take me back to Voldemort, so it would be best if I just laid low. I figured it was what you’d tell me to do,” he huffed out, gasping for breath as we ran.

“Quite right, boy. You did the perfect thing. You can’t protect anyone else if you go and get yourself killed doing something stupid.”

He nodded silently, preserving his precious oxygen. “Where do you think she went?!” Hermione choked out.

“All I can think of is that she’d go to the Slytherin dormitory. Try to find some allies to help her search for Potter,” I said.

We finally reached the end of the dungeon corridor, sliding to a halt in front of a nondescript wall. Potter and Hermione squeezed together under his invisibility cloak, and I whispered, “Ophidia!” The wall dissolved at the password, and I snuck into the dim, abandoned common room. Bellatrix was in the process of opening the doorway to the boys’ dormitories.

I cast a silent Petrificus Totalus jinx, then ran over and bound her tightly in ropes I produced from my wand. She glared at me furiously, madness glinting dangerously in her black eyes. I dosed her with a powerful memory potion Hermione handed me from her pocket, and I had to force it between her clenched teeth. The mad witch's eyes instantly went unfocused and cloudy. I cast Wingardium Leviosa and guided her out of the blessedly silent, empty room. The wall melted back into existence as we proceeded down the hallway.

I whispered to her almost seductively, informing her, “Draco was about to kill Dumbledore, but you got greedy. You were tired of waiting for the boy to get up the nerve, and you wanted all the glory for yourself. So you cast Avada Kedavra. The sword of Gryffindor fell out of the old man’s pocket as he collapsed. You grabbed the sword and chopped off his wand arm, setting it on fire just for the fun of it. Draco was so traumatized watching your actions that he fainted. Without Draco’s help, you couldn’t lift the body over the side of the tower. So you contented yourself with throwing the Headmaster’s arm and sword in front of the castle entrance so everyone would immediately know what had happened. You abandoned Draco’s insensate body and ran back down the stairway, but you met the Order of the Phoenix on the way. You battled ferociously, but you lost, terribly outnumbered. They tied you up and knocked you unconscious. Do you understand?”

She nodded dazedly, murmuring everything I had said back to me, repeating it word-for-word. When we made it to the entrance hall, we immediately ran into McGonagall and Flitwick. They gasped in surprise when they saw the witch levitating in front of me. I dropped her on the floor, indicating that they needed to take the body. We began to hear hundreds of distant footsteps thundering on the staircases in every direction. The other Professors took the odious witch’s body into the dining hall, and Flitwick stayed to keep an eye on her. Hermione and Harry whipped the Invisibility Cloak off themselves, subtly melting into the first flood of students spilling out into the entryway. McGonagall and I positioned ourselves on either side of the enormous front doors, trying in vain to quell the stampede of children.

Eventually, it seemed that nearly the entire school was out on the grounds. They were crowded in a circle around the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, which had landed with its tip embedded an inch or two into the ground. Upon further inspection a blackened, shriveled shape appeared to be impaled upon the gleaming blade. Finally, a sixth-year Hufflepuff screeched, “It’s Dumbledore’s arm! I can see all his rings! OH MY GOD!!!” She broke down in sobs, and the news traveled through the crowd on a wave of sheer panic. Shrieks of agony and despair rang out all around us. Girls wept uncontrollably, holding on each other. “The Headmaster’s dead!” rang out all around, first in whispers, then shouts.

I made out Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny across the crowd. They were all on their knees, burying their heads in each other’s shoulders. I knew Hermione would be quietly whispering the news of what had really happened to them. But their small huddle of bodies formed a perfect image of disconsolate grief. Ginevra tipped her head back, wailing miserably. I could see that she and Hermione had tears cascading endlessly down their cheeks. Finding myself truly impressed by their acting, I fixed a stony grimace on my own face.

The other professors and I meandered through the crowd, encouraging the children to head back into the castle and go to bed. Many hours passed before we had finally herded everyone back inside. I knew none of them would sleep tonight, but at least they were safe. The Golden Trio were the last students that Minerva shooed into the school even as they protested vociferously. But I stayed there a long time afterward, sitting vigil beside Dumbledore’s cursed hand, caught in a swirling miasma of internal conflict.


	46. Chapter 46

When I finally dragged myself into the castle, the sun was already peeking over the horizon. When I awoke late the next morning, it was to a feline Patronus informing me that Draco and Bellatrix had been arrested, and were currently being interrogated at the Ministry. My presence was requested in the hospital wing.

I jogged up to Madame Pomfrey’s domain, still dressed in the same robes I was wearing the night before. When I entered the ward, I saw that nearly the entire Order of the Phoenix was there. No one could know about Dumbledore’s true state yet (so as to not disrupt the credibility of the funeral), so the atmosphere was mournful in the sun-splashed room.

Bill Weasley and Remus Lupin were asleep on two of the hospital cots. Fleur Delacour clutched Weasley’s hand, and was gingerly adjusting the bandages that criss-crossed his face. Mrs. Weasley had her hand on Fleur’s shoulder in a surprisingly affectionate manner. I was also shocked to see Nymphadora Tonks grasping the werewolf’s hand tightly in both of hers, and she laid her head, weeping in apparent relief, on his chest.

I was wondering what the hell I had missed when Minerva noticed me and strolled over. She informed me in a whispered tone that the Death Eaters had tried to break in through the front gate when only Bellatrix had succeeded in entering the castle. The Order had fought them fiercely, just managing to keep them from flying high enough on their brooms to scale the defensive wards. She had personally examined Dumbledore's body, and knew that he was still alive. She assured me that no one aside from her would handle the body until he was safely tucked away in his grave.

Hermione stared at me intently from across the room, and it was all I could do not to run to her, sweeping her into my arms and kissing her fervently. Her eyes and face were red and swollen, giving the impression that she’d been up all night sobbing uncontrollably. Harry sulked in a corner, staring angrily at his shoes. The rest of the Weasleys were in a giant affectionate clump, holding on to each other for support. I felt a sharp stab of jealousy at the heartbreaking display of familial love. Hermione caught me staring at them and gave me a sad little smile.

Minerva began an impromptu Order meeting then, choosing not to disclose the information that Harry had even been out of the castle with Dumbledore. She gave him a sharp look though, obviously warning him that they’d be having words later. I zoned out as the teachers discussed funeral plans and the future of the school. It was decided that Minerva, as befitting her position of Deputy Headmistress, would take over management of the school for the time being. The school governors would, of course, decide on a permanent replacement for next year.

The meeting wrapped up after about an hour, and I made eye contact with Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Minerva in quick succession. I crooked my head backwards in a subtle indication that they should come with me. People gradually flowed forth out of the ward, and the four Gryffindors followed me at a distance as I strode down the hall. We arrived at Dumbledore’s office, and I spoke the password. When we emerged into the airy tower room, I saw his limp form spread reverentially across his enormous desk. His beard and hair had been carefully combed and arranged. He gave every indication of being dead as a doornail. When I felt his pulse, a solid thirty seconds passed between each sluggish beat.

I turned to Potter, asking hurriedly, “So did you get the Horcrux or not?”

He shook his head crossly, tossing a small necklace across the room to me. “Not exactly,” he sighed. I opened the locket and unfolded the note inside. I read its contents aloud, finishing with the initials, “R.A.B… Hmm… I wonder who that could be…” I mused.

“What does it matter?” he cried, stomping his foot petulantly. “All that work was for nothing. Now we don’t even know where the real horcrux ended up!” He went on to regale us with the entire story of their trip into the cave, and by the end, Minerva looked like she was going to have a heart attack.

“He took _you_ , a _child_ not even of legal wizarding age, into a dangerous cave full of inferi and dark magic?! And made you force-feed him a torturous potion while he writhed in agony and begged you to stop?!” she screeched, looking quite deranged. Potter nodded, looking at Dumbledore’s prone body with a flurry of conflicting emotions playing over his face. “Bloody hell, he really has lost his mind,” she sighed, sinking into an armchair and fanning herself dazedly.

“So what are we gonna do now?” Weasley asked, looking around at all of us for guidance.

“I’m going to find them. The locket, the cup, the thing for Ravenclaw, whatever the hell the other one is... And then I’m going to destroy them,” Harry ground out fiercely.

“If you think you’re doing that on your own, you’re completely mad, mate,” Ron interjected. “Yeah,” Hermione added, “you’re not doing anything without our help.”

“I’m going to have to go on the run,” Harry argued, “When I turn 17 this summer, I’ll be open to Voldemort’s attack.”

“You won’t last ten minutes without your friends, Potter,” Minerva scoffed. “You will need to be hidden for the end of the summer, but I have high hopes that you will be able to return to Hogwarts next year. At least for a while. This castle is the most secure location in wizarding Britain. Unless You-Know-Who brings an entire army to our doorstep, we can keep them out.”

Hermione picked up where the older woman left off, “And when they come for you, we’ll escape. We’ll go on the run. As long as we keep moving, we can stay one step ahead of him. You don’t need to do this alone.” She looked up at me when she said that, obviously trying to send the message to me as well.

I stepped forward then, speaking with a calm confidence that I hardly felt, “Alone, we are weak. Together, we are powerful. The five of us in this room are allies now, a united front. And when we work as one, we can achieve anything. **Look at what we did tonight**. This infiltration should have been a bloodbath, but we didn’t lose even a single life. The Dark Lord will rue the day he murdered your parents, Harry. He has no fucking idea what he’s gotten himself into.”

“Hear, Hear!” Weasley’s voice rang out, bringing a round of chuckles from those assembled.

Everyone gradually took their leave of the office, until only Hermione and I remained. Minerva gave us a fleeting look as she exited, forehead wrinkled in suspicion. We proceeded down to my laboratory in companionable silence, each of us lost in our own private thoughts.

The instant the laboratory wall had reformed, Hermione leapt straight into my arms. I picked her up and spun her around as she let out peals of laughter. When I set her back down, I realized that a huge grin had spread across my own face. Surprised at myself, I tried to moderate my expression, but it was futile.

I took Hermione’s face between my hands, cupping her cheeks as I stared intently into her eyes. “The fact that I am in this room right now is a goddamn miracle,” I whispered ardently. “And I have only you to thank for that, Hermione. There’s no way I can even begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me… I’ve changed so much in the past 9 months… And it’s all because of you. I’ve never actually felt positive about the future before. I _never_ believed I’d be anything but yet another casualty of this war. But you and I can do anything together. I truly believe that.”

She nodded vigorously in agreement. “I feel the same way. There’s nothing we can’t do. I never saw myself as powerful, or important, or even useful really… But you’ve made me into those things, Severus. You make me feel like I could fix any problem, accomplish anything I set my mind to, defeat any challenger that I face…”

I quirked my eyebrow at her fondly, “Likewise. You make me want to be a good man, Hermione. You make me want to improve myself, to make myself worthy of you. You’re my inspiration, my reason for getting out of bed in the morning. You’re a shining beacon in all the darkness, guiding me, warming me, leading me home… I love you, Hermione Jean Granger. So much more than I can adequately express. So much more than I ever thought my old, shriveled heart capable of…”

“I love you, Severus Tobias Snape,” she murmured, stretching up on tip-toes. She pulled my head down to her, placing her lips tenderly upon my own. Electricity radiated from our point of contact, but my elation was far too powerful. My eyeballs felt like they were being stabbed with steak knives, but I couldn’t have cared less. It was the gentlest kiss we’d ever shared by a huge margin. I tried to articulate my profound gratitude, my abiding desire, my security, my tender affection, all with such a dreadfully limited expression. But I believe my message got through; both of our cheeks were stained with tears when we finally pulled away, ears ringing and temples throbbing.


	47. Chapter 47

We spent the majority of the following days ensconced in my laboratory. We still had plenty of work to do, despite Hogwarts and the wizarding world at large seeming to grind to a halt in the wake of Dumbledore’s violent “death”. Bellatrix had proudly admitted to murdering the headmaster, and was currently serving something like her tenth life sentence in Azkaban. I wondered idly how many days it would be before she broke out yet again. Draco had been placed in juvenile detention by the court. I had no doubt that his parents would have him back home after a couple of well-placed bribes, however.

The Daily Prophet was filled with nothing but speculation, rumors, and gossip. Hermione and I combed through it frantically each morning, looking across the dining hall at each other in relief each time we failed to find our own names. It appeared that not a single person, living or dead, had seen us until the entire school flooded out onto the grounds.

Pretty much everyone assumed Draco had played the operative role in getting a Death Eater into the castle, but he couldn’t remember a bit of it. All attempts at Legilimency as well as multiple interrogations with Veritaserum came back empty. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was ridiculously proud of my memory charm. The Ministry justices had concluded that he’d been operating under the influence of the Imperious Curse for most of the year, but his Dark Mark was conclusive proof that he certainly wasn’t innocent by any means.

The Malfoy family came under heavy scrutiny. The fact that their son and his aunt had been responsible for the death of the Headmaster was a huge blow to their credibility. Lucius lost his position as a Hogwarts’ Governor, as well as a number of other honorary titles and board seats. I knew they were still living plenty comfortably, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty for bringing hell down on them. _At least the boy isn’t dead, or in Azkaban, or had his soul ripped to shreds. I did the best I could with the situation I was given. Draco may even be allowed to attend Hogwarts next semester if he doesn’t get into any more legal trouble. Really, it worked out as well as it possibly could have…_

Dumbledore’s funeral was just as overwrought and insipid as I had anticipated. I sat directly across the way from Hermione, so I contented myself with simply staring at her the entire time. She wept desolately through the service, holding onto Ginevra's hand for support. The girls would frequently wrap each other into tight hugs. Knowing Hermione, she would be thinking about the fact that Dumbledore’s death was still coming, still something she was going to have to deal with soon. We had fatally poisoned the old man, and he was not at all pleased with us about it. _We did the best we could_ , I tried to reassure myself, _He was making impossible, insane demands. We should all be so lucky as him- with the opportunity to choose the exact place and time we finally move on._

After the interminably long funeral, I noticed Potter having a private conversation with the Minister of Magic. I could read Scrimgeour’s expressions from where I stood, watching casually out of the corner of my eye. The Minister did not seem pleased with the boy, and I found myself once again being pleasantly surprised with Potter. I assumed the Ministry was pressuring the Chosen One to voice his support for their administration, and he was outright refusing. _Good boy. Don’t let the bastards grind you down._

I strolled around the far side of the lake, then plunged into a small opening in the Forbidden Forest. I paused about ten minutes down the path, waiting until I heard footsteps crashing through the brush behind me. Within a few minutes, Hermione emerged through a copse of Privet. I quirked the corner of my mouth at her, pulling a small leafy twig out of her upswept hair. She giggled, blushing slightly. She was clad in a conservative knee-length black dress. She had put on a small amount of makeup for the event, but most of the mascara had run into the creases beneath her eyes. I wiped my fingers across her lower lids, removing a bit of the smeared mess.

She looked at me with a small smile on her shiny, cherry-red lips. I wrapped my hands around her slim waist, pulling her against me. “Trains are going back tomorrow…” she whispered, and I nodded my head in acknowledgement. “I can’t believe they’re cancelling lessons for the rest of term… And the exams! What a tragedy…” she sighed, and I laughed in spite of myself. “Only Hermione Granger would say the cancellation of exams is a tragedy after having just attended a funeral…” I teased.

She rolled her eyes, slapping me lightly on the cheek. “Shush, you. I’m just trying to ask you what your plans are this summer…”

“The same thing as every summer. Working overtime for the Dark Lord, getting wasted, enjoying not dealing with bratty children every hour of my waking life…” I drawled sarcastically. “What are you going to do? It’s not safe at your parents’ house. Are you going to the Burrow?” I asked, just barely managing to disguise my juvenile concern about her being alone with Ron Weasley all summer.

“Well, I know I’m definitely going to be at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding… Are you planning on going?!” she inquired, looking at me eagerly.

“Weddings aren’t really my thing…” I began, but she grabbed the lapels of my formal velvet robes in desperation. She looked at me appealingly, “But you have to go… Please… For me? It’s probably the only time I’ll get to see you for the next three months!!” Her lower lip was quivering now, and she looked on the verge of tears.

“Silly girl,” I murmured, sweeping a few stray hairs out of her face. “I would spend every single day of the summer holiday with you if I could.”

Her eyes lit up, “Then we should! I’ll stay with you at Spinner's End, or we could stay at Grimmauld Place again if you don’t feel like being in that house…”

I cut her off, shaking my head sadly, “We can’t do it, Hermione. You know that. I’m one of the school board’s three candidates. And the Dark Lord is just about to place the Imperious Curse on two more of the Hogwarts Governors; he’s going to finally have a majority, and they will instate me as Headmaster. If someone finds out about our relationship, I’ll be as good as dead. Do you understand that? If I’m sacked from being Headmaster, I won’t be of any use anymore. Potter will be on the run, Dumbledore will be apparently dead. I’ll have no value to the Dark Lord. Nothing to offer to keep myself alive…”

Tears were leaking from her eyes now, she looked at me with desolation written plain across her face. “We can hide it! No one has to know! I can’t live without you… I just can’t!” she cried out, hands desperately clutching at my chest.

I couldn’t hold it back, and water squeezed unbidden from the corners of my eyes as well. I wrapped her as tightly in my arms as I could without completely crushing her delicate form. I shushed her gently, but she just cried harder. She was truly inconsolable, and my heart felt as if it were shattering into a million pieces.

“Please,” I murmured desperately, “Please don’t cry, Hermione. Please. I don’t want it to be this way either. But what can we do? You’re coming back to school next year. I’m still your professor. We can’t be together. That’s just the way it is.”

She shook her head vigorously, taking in small, sobbing gasps of breath. “No. I refuse to accept that! We are _**intelligent** **fucking** **people**_! You’ve spent decades lying to two of the most powerful wizards of all time!”

“Be that as it may, we have MOLLY WEASLEY to deal with now. You think she’s not going to wonder why you’re not staying at her house with your parents gone gallivanting around Africa?”

“Have you forgotten that I’m your apprentice, Severus? Just because Dumbledore was the one who forced us into it in the first place, doesn’t mean we have to stop now that he’s gone! We still have work to do, right? The war is just going to be getting more and more intense from here on out! I’m sure you’re going to need my help with brewing, collecting ingredients, all sorts of stuff, right?” she asked leadingly, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I suppose I may need some assistance every once in a while…” I conceded, smirking at her.

“Exactly! And if you become Headmaster, you’ll be in charge of…” she began, giving me a very suggestive look.

I finished for her, “…the wards. ALL of the wards…”

A completely evil expression overtook my face, and she laughed triumphantly. “You better watch yourself, you naughty little girl,” I sneered lewdly, roughly grabbing her by her slim hips, “When I’m Headmaster, you’re going to be getting into a lot of trouble… I do believe you may need to be punished every. single. night.”

Her eyes were hooded and dark as she looked up at me. She bit her lip unconsciously, smearing her dark lipstick a bit. I let out a low growl, picking her up and pressing her against the trunk of a nearby oak. She wrapped her legs around my hips, pressing on me insistently. I ground my rock-hard cock against her, delirious with need. “Dirty little girl. So fucking needy. Can’t even go a few measly months without being touched by her filthy professor. Does your hungry little cunt want my monster cock? Does your ass want to be abused? Beaten and spanked while you scream and cry?”

“Yes! Yes!” she cried, digging her nails painfully into the back of my neck. I humped her like an animal, like a man possessed. I let out feral snarls, mercilessly squeezing her rump as I held her suspended in the air. I was leaving dozens of bite marks all over her throat, and I was certain her back and bottom would be covered in bruises. But she couldn’t care less, screaming at me constantly to push harder, faster, more, more, more….

I came violently when she began to let loose a filthy stream of consciousness, “Oh gods, that feels so good, Master. Your cock is so enormous, so incredibly hard… All I can think about is how bad I need it inside me. I want to be used by you, Sir. I want to do everything for you. I want to be your filthy little slut… I want to serve your every whim, fulfil your every fantasy, give you everything you ever wanted… OH FUCK! Gods, I want your mouth on my pussy again so bad! I want you to devour me! I want you to use me, Master! OH FUCKING HELL!!!”

Once my load was spent, I abruptly lowered her to the ground. I grabbed her hips, spinning her around. She bent over immediately, placing one hand on the tree trunk, and sticking her ass alluringly into the air. “What a good little girl…” I purred, yanking her dress up around her hips. She was wearing a tiny black thong, and I grunted my approval of her wardrobe choice. I pulled her impossibly tiny panties down her creamy white thighs, and she let out a little gasp as the breeze tickled her wet, swollen mound.

Her exposed cunt was unbelievably bright pink in the dappled afternoon sunshine. Her bare labia glistened with moisture, and I could see that her inner thighs were smeared with her arousal as well. “Touch yourself,” I choked out, overwhelmed with the visual. Her tiny, graceful fingers reached between her legs, rubbing desperately at herself. She moaned deliciously, and I couldn’t help but reach out for her. I pinched her cheek, then slapped it. She let out an incredible little scream, and I grinned evilly. I cast silencing and muffling charms around us as I began the assault in earnest. I beat her sexy little ass mercilessly, and yet she continued to cry out for more. When she finally came, many long minutes later, it was with a single long, drawn-out scream. She collapsed onto her knees, pulling her underwear up dazedly. I sat next to her, and she crawled into my lap.

She curled into a ball, and I wrapped her up protectively inside my cloak. I gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead, and she smiled up at me sleepily. I hummed to her gently for a while, content to simply soak up the serene moment. Without even meaning to, I began to sing Pink Floyd, quietly at first, but eventually building to a bittersweet crescendo…

On the day the wall came down  
They threw the locks onto the ground  
And with glasses high we raised a cry for freedom had arrived

On the day the wall came down  
The Ship of Fools had finally run aground  
Promises lit up the night like paper doves in flight

I dreamed you had left my side  
No warmth, not even pride remained  
And even though you needed me  
It was clear that I could not do a thing for you

Now life devalues day by day  
As friends and neighbors turn away  
And there’s a change that, even with regret, cannot be undone

Now frontiers shift like desert sands  
While nations wash their bloodied hands  
Of loyalty, of history, in shades of grey

I woke to the sound of drums  
The music played, the morning sun streamed in  
I turned and I looked at you  
And all but the bitter residues slipped away… slipped away…

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for anyone who caught the Margaret Atwood quote!
> 
> Here is a link for the song that closes the story, A Great Day for Freedom, from the criminally underrated final Pink Floyd album, The Division Bell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHuI_FWCoPU Now go and listen to the entire damn album. Seriously!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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